


Trust Me, Mine is Better

by TornThorn



Category: Glee, Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: All Kurt Hummel's Friends May Be In Love With Him, BAMF Kurt, Background Relationships, Discussion of Attack on LGBTQ Night Club, Discussion of Canon Typical Bullying for Both Shows, Discussion of Gay Bashing, Discussion of Long Term Injuries, Discussion of Religious Bigotry, Discussion of Stalking, Discussion of Threats With a Fire Arm, Discussion of Threats of Non-Con/Rape, Eventual Brian/Justin/Kurt, Fashion Designer Kurt, Justin Never Went to New York, King of Babylon, Kurt Might Be Completely Oblivious Of This, Kurt and Emmett are cousins, Spoilers Through Glee Season 4, Spoilers Through Queer as Folk Series Finale, The Inevitable Karaoke Bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TornThorn/pseuds/TornThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel spends a week on Liberty Avenue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 (Saturday)

It was the annual King of Babylon competition, and the winner was practically guaranteed, when Emmett started talking.

“Justin, sweetie, you know you’re one of my best friends, right? I mean, to me, you’re more like family really!”

Brian, lounging against the bar next to his partner, rolled his eyes. “There are remote tribes in outer Mongolia who know how you feel about Sunshine, you nelly bottom.” Brian’s tone was closer to absentminded than his trademark cutting, as he took in the club - pulsing, vibrant, and stuffed to legal capacity with the very hottest tricks in Pittsburgh.

Emmett ignored the man, worried attentiveness on Justin. The smiling blond just grinned. “Yes, Emmett, you’re one of my best friends, too.”

Letting out a gusty sigh of relief, the tall man sagged a bit. “Oh thank god!”

Now the entire group was looking at him, puzzled and entertained by their drama queen.

Taking in the attention, Emmett fidgeted, sipping his drink. He didn’t manage a full minute of resistance before he sighed, then admitted the problem. “I didn’t bet on you this year.”

Justin didn’t understand. On the other hand, the remainder of their friends wore varying expressions of surprise.

“Don’t get me wrong!” Emmett rambled on. “It’s tradition. I’ve put my money on you every year since that surprise, sexy first performance, honey. And it’s done well by me so far. I mean, with your impeccable bubble butt, of _course_ it has.” A deep breath, and Emmett appeared slightly ashamed, but also determined. “But not this year. This year, I put my money on someone else.”

Intrigued, Ted leaned in to ask for more information.

Brian beat him to the punch, disdain heavy in his voice. “If you really think betting on some loser is any more likely to get you fucked, you’re delusional, Dorothy.”

Blinking, Emmett replied with offended, righteous dignity. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Get-My-Dick-In, that my bet has absolutely _nothing_ to do with sex.”

Michael huffed, incredulous. “Since when?” he muttered.

With a chuckle, Brian added, “Keep saying it and I’m sure _someone_ will believe it.”

That earned him a half-hearted punch in the arm from Justin.

“If you _must_ know-” Emmett drew himself up to his full height. “-I have exactly one family member I don’t loathe. He’s the son of a cousin, and just got out of a miserable relationship. So I convinced him to take a vacation, spend a week or two here in the Pitts and have some _fun_. And then I tricked him into signing up for tonight’s competition.”

“So it’s a pity bet,” Ted attempted to clarify. This time, it was Blake slapping at his boyfriend in disapproval.

Then they all watched as an oddly confident (and maybe a tiny bit evil) smile spread itself across Emmett’s face. “Heavens, no, Teddy. I bet on him because the odds on an unknown out-of-towner are ludicrous, and I could use the cash.” He leaned over to lightly pat Justin’s shoulder. “Sorry, sweetie, but this year, you’re getting dethroned!”

* * *

Kurt was still appalled that he’d let Emmett talk him into this. It was so far outside his comfort zone, he could practically feel the stress-induced breakouts coming.

“Oh Gaga, this was such a bad idea,” he muttered, straightening his outfit for the umpteenth time. An odd choking sound from behind made him peer over his shoulder. He was unsurprised to find one of the tech crew had paused in his job to stare, unerringly, at Kurt’s well-clad ass.

He sighed. Kurt knew the outfit was impeccably tailored, but thus far the amount of blatant lust in the eyes of the majority of the men he’d passed on his way through the club was ridiculous. Did no one understand the enhancements of a good outfit in this sad town?

Still, he was here now. And Emmett, sweet, cheerful, loving, _annoying_ Emmett, had bet actual money on Kurt. He knew his cousin, knew it had been a way to guarantee the younger man actually got up on the sticky stage and gave the performance of a lifetime. So he would knock their damned pants off.

Emmett had mentioned his friend Justin (described in quite a bit more detail than necessary) would be going on at some point. He had also somehow convinced the mistress of ceremonies, a statuesque drag queen called Sheba in enough sequins and feathers for three Carnivale costumes, to put Kurt on stage last.

Even had he not recognized “Sunshine” based on his cousin’s oddly guilty babbling, there was no way Kurt could have missed the introduction. “Gays and girls, please welcome to the stage, our King of seven years running. That delicious dish, the ass that won’t quit, the twink of our dreams - _Justin Taylor!_ ”

The reaction was _loud_ as the blond man hopped up on stage, smile wide and hips swiveling enticingly. Along with low-cut jeans and a tight, bright blue croptop, he was also wearing a large, oddly nice prop crown.

As the music started, it quickly became clear Justin knew how to work the crowd, tossing suggestive looks and teasing winks around with impunity. Though his focus stayed mostly on an arrogantly smirking and gorgeous man at the bar.

That, then, must be Brian.

The song was pop, with a heavy bass beat that had the club goers bopping along, and Kurt gave him points for playing to his audience. Emmett’s stories of Justin’s time as a go-go dancer were paid true, going by the way he worked the stripper pole, and bent over, waving his ass at the crowd. Still, this was amateur and unpolished, comparatively.

There were cheers, whistles and applause as Justin finished with a provocative pose, followed by a bow.

Then Sheba swept back out and waved down the noise from the crowd. “Alright, my dears, our last hopeful of the night is not from these parts. In fact, he cheerfully told me his heart’s in New York City. Please welcome to the stage - _Porcelain!_ ”

Kurt took his spot, felt the music start as much as he heard it, and stepped into the moment. Because if there was one thing he would never lose, it was the ability to put on a show.

* * *

The final performer appeared young, maybe early twenties, with a black trilby hat perched on top of russet hair in a high pompadour. He wore skintight, scarlet jeans with studs curving down along the side, tucked into knee-high, black, lace-up military boots, all of which set off a pair of long legs. A three-quarter sleeve dinner jacket, a shade darker than the pants, over a black dress shirt, and a matching narrow tie with a subtle chevron pattern of grey and white completed the look. The clothes fit like they had been sewn on.

He walked across the stage to turn his back to the audience, one hand on the hat, the other on a cocked hip. Then the music began. This song had been playing on the radio almost non-stop since it came out, so the majority of the crowd was already cheering before the voice even came in. Namely, _his voice_ , because the guy was singing into a small, professional, taped-on head mic.

At the first line, he pulled off the hat and tossed it away across the stage, before spinning to face the audience. “ _We're all bored,_ _we're all so tired of everything_. _We wait for trains that just aren't coming._ _We show off our different scarlet letters-_ ” He pulled off his jacket, and the shirt underneath was sleeveless to better expose lithely muscular arms. Then he turned, revealing the large, bright red words embroidered across the back, LIKES BOYS, and sang over his shoulder, “ _Trust me, mine is better_.”

Heading back to the front at a strut, the next few lines were sung with a smile that was sad, knowing. “ _We're so young, but we're on the road to ruin._ _We play dumb, but we know exactly what we're doing._ _We cry tears of mascara in the bathroom._ ” A shrug, “ _Honey, life is just a classroom_.”

And then he started dancing. _Really_ dancing. The moves were clearly choreographed, and he hit them with glee, a slide here, a stomp and jump and twist there. “ _Cause, baby, I could build a castle_ _out of all the bricks they threw at me!_ _And every day is like a battle, but every night with us is like a dream_.

“ _Baby, we're the new romantics._ _Come on, come along with me._ _Heart break is the national anthem_.” He yanked off his tie and waved it overhead. “ _We sing it proudly!_ ” Then, throwing the scrap of fabric aside, he finally aimed his body at the stripper pole, deftly spinning himself up onto it. “ _We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet_. _Baby, we're the new romantics._ ” Legs tight around the pole, he leaned over backward, hands free, to wink at the room. “ _The best people in life are free_.”

Hopping back off the pole, he returned to the earlier prancing, swinging his hips like a runway model, moving closer to the edge of the stage, then further away again. “ _We're all here. The lights and noise are blinding._ _We hang back,_ _it's all in the timing. It's poker, he can't see it in my face but I'm about to play my Ace_.” He did exactly that, turning around to show off and shake the type of ass about which gay men dreamed.

“ _We need love, but all we want is danger._ _We team up then switch sides like a record changer._ ” He reached up and began undoing the buttons on the shirt. “ _The rumors are terrible and cruel. But, honey, most of them are true_.” Finally, he untucked it and tossed the sides away to frame his torso, the slender waist, defined pecs and abs, and long throat all displayed as he stretched dramatically. Then he launched himself back into the dancing as the singing returned.

“ _Cause, baby, I could build a castle_ _out of all the bricks they threw at me!_ _And every day is like a battle, but every night with us is like a dream_.

“ _Baby, we're the new romantics._ _Come on, come along with me._ _Heart break is the national anthem. We sing it proudly!_ ” This time, the description was joined by a jumping fist pump. “ _We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet_. _Baby, we're the new romantics._ _The best people in life are free_.” He opened his arms to the crowd and spun in place, segueing from a quick little grapevine step, into a momentary waltz, and then back out again. “ _So come on, come along with me._ _The best people in life are free!_ ”

As the song slowed, he mimed the different lyrics, first reaching for the audience. “ _Please take my hand and_ -” Pushing his arms up over his head, he dropped his neck back, closed his eyes and _ground_ against an invisible partner. “ _Please take me dancing and_ -” Dropping his hands to wrap around himself in a contained self-hug. “ _You leave me stranded-_ ” With a wry smile and a raised brow, he added the next line. “ _They say it's romantic_.”

Another spin, then he practically leapt at the forgotten pole, hoisting himself back up and proceeding to make it his bitch. “ _Cause, baby, I could build a castle_ _out of all the bricks they threw at me!_ _And every day is like a battle, but every night with us is like a dream_.

“ _Cause, baby, I could build a castle_ _out of all the bricks they threw at me!_ _And every day is like a battle, but every night with us is like a dream_.

“ _Baby, we're the new romantics._ _Come on, come along with me._ _Heart break is the national anthem. We sing it proudly!_ _We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet_. _Baby, we're the new romantics._ _The best people in life are free_.”

Twisting off the pole, he reclaimed his opening pose and the spotlights flicked off.

The screams and whistles were deafening, in the moments between the song’s end and when the lights came back up. It was clear who the crowd had picked as their ruler.

Sheba swayed back onstage and asked, voice a shade serious, “Where the hell have you been all my life, gorgeous?”

The man had already pulled back on the jacket and was picking up the tie. Smirking, he sauntered over to brush a kiss across the queen’s glitter-covered cheek. “In your dreams.”

Turning to stare at Emmett, the gang wore expressions that ranged from lustful to flabbergasted.

The tall man grinned, smug. “My cousin, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have all seven days planned out, I just have to *write* them. But I've decided to post the first chapter, in effort to force myself to get to it.
> 
> Note 2: I’ve had this fic in the works since I finally started watching QaF, about three years ago. But I couldn’t find the right song for Kurt’s performance. Then T Swizzle came out with her latest, New Romantics, and I kind of wanted to scream. Other songs considered: Genghis Khan (Miike Snow), Make You Believe (Lucy Hale), Fever (Adam Lambert), Strange Love (Halsey), Do I Wanna Know (Arctic Monkeys), Irresistible (Fall Out Boy), and even for a very short time Heat of the Night (Aqua).


	2. Day Two (Sunday) - Part One

It was nearly two hours later (half of which had simply involved Kurt trying to reach Emmett at the bar) before the group had escaped Babylon to stop in at the diner.

Kurt had worn the winner’s crown only as long as necessary before happily passing it on to one of the many men who’d propositioned him. The winner’s packet (an envelope that held plane tickets to Buenos Aires, vouchers for the stay in a top hotel, and $800 in spending money) he handed right to Emmett, despite his cousin’s protests and without so much as checking the contents.

When Ted cleared his throat, intent on introducing everyone, he was waved off by Kurt.

“No, Emmett’s told me enough that I think I can guess who you each are. First off, obviously, we have Justin.” Sitting on Kurt’s left, Sunshine smiled. “Which means the one who was all over him at Babylon, and currently playing footsie with him under the booth-” Sitting across from his lover, the man in question shrugged, unashamed. “-is the infamous Brian.

“I’ve actually met you once before, Theodore,” Kurt admitted, leaning around his cousin to nod at the couple on chairs at the end of the booth. “It must have been nearly 13 years ago.”

Ted nodded sagely, despite having no memory of crashing a lunch to which Emmett had invited Kurt and his father Burt.

“Logically, that means the one whose hand Theodore is unwilling to release is Blake.” Blushing, Blake smiled bashfully but continued holding tight to Ted.

Turning to the remaining pair, Kurt nodded to the man on Brian’s left. “You must be Michael. And _you_ -” His gaze went to the last member of the group. “-are Professor Benjamin Bruckner. You wrote _RU12_ ,” Kurt grinned at Ben.

“Yeah,” the man nodded. “You’ve read it?”

Kurt’s smile faded a bit. “You were frank with the subject matter. Powerfully forthright about your own condition. And yet, you didn’t take the opportunity to lay blame, and you ended the book with a sense of hope that was written as fragile, but _felt_ enduring.”

Ben was blushing, while Michael looked torn between pride for his husband and jealousy at the youngest man making his hubby go red.

Catching the teacher’s eye, Kurt winked. “Plus, you looked hot on the book jacket.”

Everyone cracked up at that, even the man’s husband.

“Em said you’re fresh off a bad relationship?” Michael asked, fighting not to needle the newcomer.

Kurt sighed. “That’s correct. We were friendly acquaintances first, and never should have slept together, let alone put a name on said hook-ups. He was a trust fund baby with a cushy job at his father’s law firm, and I’m a workaholic who tracks every penny. He disapproved of my friends, and I despised his. He was in love with a childhood friend who recently came out, and I’m an emotional bucket of trust issues thanks to an earlier ex. That we lasted four months is a miracle,” Kurt admitted ruefully.

Emmett gave the slim man a quick side-hug and redirected the conversation. “Justin and Brian have been thinking about making a move out to the Big Apple, isn’t that right, boys?”

Brian nodded. “Kinnetik, my company, should be in a stable enough place to start a New York branch in the next two years, and Sunshine here would love the art scene.”

Grinning, Kurt eagerly gushed, “New York City has been my goal since I was _eight_. I’ve been there seven years now, and never regretted the move.”

“Where did you grow up?” Ben asked.

Kurt’s nose crinkled up adorably in disgust. “A tiny podunk town in Ohio, called Lima. The inhabitants were under the impression that high school football games and tractor-truck rallies were the height of entertainment. That place is- Ugh. It’s taken me _years_ to understand just how bad it left me, mentally. The bullying was equal parts ludicrous and legitimately dangerous.”

Justin, uncomfortable with the topic but also curious, echoed, “Ludicrous?”

Sighing, Kurt picked at his nails. “One of the favorite activities of the popular crowd was to get a slushie, they sold them cheap at the school, find a loser, and then toss the drink in their face. I spent all of high school with at least one extra set of clothes folded and protected by saran wrap in my bag, just in case. Or they had the annual Smear the Queer week. Let’s just say it involved faux hunting and paintball guns, and speak of it no more.”

They were staring, and Kurt grabbed for his water, taking a long swallow before subtly elbowing Emmett to change the subject.

Brightly, his cousin did just that. “Well, any suggestions for when our boys end up in your city?”

Kurt smiled gratefully. “Of course. One of my favorite things is simply the enormous variety of food available, and quite a few places are open all night. I’m stuck at work overnight and craving Morrocan? They deliver. My coworker wants curry? The Indian place two streets over is open until 6 AM. It’s amazing compared to where I grew up. In Lima, everything was closed by 10 PM.

“Then there’s the art,” he offered, turning to Justin. “The Met, MoMA, the Guggenheim. Not to mention all the exhibits the fine arts colleges in the area put on. Vassar’s had a few amazing artists lately.”

Justin jumped in. “They had “White Bored”. Swan, right?”

“Yes, Eric Swan,” Kurt nodded. “And the Agbogho Mmuo, by Chibwela Achike, or the Urban Witchcraft series. That one was, oh Gaga I know this, uh… Kara Niels, I believe?”

“What about clubs? How’s mine compare?” Brian butted in.

Kurt laughed. “That’s right. You own Babylon, too, don’t you?”

Preening slightly, Brian smirked. “Yup.”

Thinking back on his time in the building, Kurt shrugged. “Good use of the space, the dancers were all nice to look at and seemed to be enjoying themselves. The drink selection was adequate, you had the traditional disco ball, and I heard several patrons say it was the only good dance club in the area. I’ve been to worse. That said…” Kurt frowned. “Your DJ’s choice of music is appallingly last _decade_. It sounded like he hadn’t found any new music since 2005.”

Before Brian could protest, their drinks arrived. Kurt took the opportunity to compliment Kiki’s apron, and the waitress happily admitted to making it herself. The pair spent a minute discussing fabric and sewing machines, before another table shouted for Kiki’s attention, pulling her away.

“You just can’t help charming everyone, can you?” Emmett teased.

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, when his phone rang.

Incredulous, Blake asked, “Is someone really calling you at 2:30 in the morning?”

Looking worried, Kurt pulled out his cell, then snorted. “Oh, this should be good.” Clicking ‘accept’, he answered, “What have you done now, Elliott?” Listening for a moment, Kurt dropped his face into his hand and muttered, “I’ve been gone less than a _day_ , for the love of Beyoncé.”

Straightening up, Kurt shooed Emmett out of the booth, slipping past his cousin and yanking on his jacket. Heading for the door, he called, “I’ll be back shortly, I hope!”

There was a moment where no one spoke, before Justin freely admitted, “I like him.”

Michael winked broadly, well aware that the current rules to Justin and Brian’s relationship meant they had no problem continuing to objectify good looking guys. “You would.”

Ted groaned. “Oh, don’t start this again.” While they were all aware Justin and Michael had buried the hatchet years ago, the accountant always expected the old issues to flare up again.

The pair shared a glance, then simultaneously asked, “Start what?”

Ted rolled his eyes.

Bubbling, Emmett admitted, “I can’t wait for Linds to meet him! They’ve got so many shared interests, it’ll be adorable!”

Brian agreed, but brought up a different issue. “Bets that Smelly Melly will think it’s the second coming of Auerbach when Lindsay’s all over him and hate him on sight?”

“No, no,” Emmett protested. “She’ll be just as fascinated as everyone else. One of Kurty’s friends is a civil rights lawyer, Marisol-something. She won the Mendoza vs. Webster case that was all over the news last year. As soon as Mel finds that out, she’ll fall all over herself to hear more,” he argued.

Their food finally arrived, Kiki passing out the plates and pouting a little when she noticed Kurt wasn’t at the table.

After a minute of everyone digging into their food, Ted broke the silence. “Alright, someone needs to say it.”

Blake blinked at him. “Say what?”

Intent, Ted turned to Emmett. “He’s a bottom, right?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ben countered, “Top.”

Glancing toward the front window, where they could barely make out Kurt talking on his phone, Ted offered a hand. “I’ll put fifty bucks on it.”

The professor’s brow furrowed, but he wore a small, confident smile when he shook on the deal. “Done.”

Equal parts entertained and scandalized, Emmett slapped at the man. “Oh my god, Teddy, you are shameless.”

Which was when Debbie showed up for work, swinging open the diner door and already pulled off her purse and coat, heading to stash them behind the counter. As she bustled in, Debbie announced to the diner at large, “Anybody know who the prime piece of ass outside is? I don’t recognize him.”

Emmett waved a hand to draw her attention. “Is he on the phone and wearing a red suit?”

“Yup,” she confirmed.

Gleeful, Emmett laid claim to his relative. “That’s the newly elected King of Babylon, and my baby cousin, Kurt!”

Joking, Debbie snapped, “So that’s where all the good looks in your family went.”

Emmett shook a reproachful finger at her, “Bitchy, Deb,” then smiled. “Kurt will approve.”

Laughing, the waitress pulled on her work apron and straightened her vest, making sure all the buttons were facing up, then pulled out an order pad and pen. “So, how long is he in town?” asked Debbie.

“A week.” Emmett shrugged at the frowns. “It was all he could spare. And he has a business meeting on Monday. But besides that, we’re planning to see the local sights and shop like our cards have no limits,” Emmett happily announced.

“Well, I wanna meet him.” Behind her, the door slipped open and Kurt returned, heading their way. Oblivious, she continued, ordering Emmett, “You bring him to family dinner on Wednesday. If nothing else, he’ll be some nice eye candy,” she winked.

Stepping up to stand at her side, Kurt’s lips ticked upward, pleased. “If you mean me, I’d love to come. You must be Deborah.”

Spinning to face him, she shook her head. “Debbie, or Deb, sugar. Only my mother ever called me Deborah, and I promise you I don’t miss that at all.” Taking him in again, openly this time, she whistled, impressed. “Kiddo, you are a step up from anyone this diner’s seen in a long time.”

Kurt laughed, slightly bashful. “Thank you for the compliment. Is there anything I can bring Wednesday? Wine, or a desert maybe?” he offered.

Debbie looked enchanted. “Angel, you bring yourself and those amazing manners, and we’ll call it good,” she praised.

Her smile dropped when the cook in the back hollered Deb’s name and “order up!” With a scowl, Debbie yelled back, “I’m coming! Hold your fucking horses, Stu!” Turning back to the youngest man, she grinned broadly. “Nice meeting you, Angel.” Then she bustled off for the plate window, loudly cursing out the cook the entire way.

Kurt settled back into his seat, and Blake chuckled. “Congratulations, you just got adopted.”

“Hmm?” Kurt raised a brow as he spread dressing over his meal and took a bite.

“The nickname,” Emmett explained. “Calling you “angel”. It means she officially considers you to be one of her boys now.”

Resigned, Michael sighed heavily, dropping his head on Ben’s shoulder. “You had to offer to bring something, didn’t you? Now she’s gonna try switching me for you.”

“Nonsense,” Kurt responded. “Emmett’s told me more than once that your mother is your fiercest defender. She wouldn’t trade you in for a bottle of wine.” He tilted his head in fake consideration.  “Probably. I’m betting she’s more of a whiskey woman, anyway. Isn’t she?”

Brian snorted. “Nah. She likes a good blunt.”

“Well, there you go!” waved Kurt. “Now, where was I?” Kurt mused, after a few bites of his salad. “Right, the joys of New York, there’s also the theater district. Wicked is a big draw, and Cats is _still_ running. Hamilton, if you know someone who knows someone who can get you tickets in exchange for your immortal soul.” He paused when it became clear only Ted was interested. Considering the group slowly, Kurt hummed. “If you’re looking for something a little more, uh, risque, or relevant, perhaps? The Book of Mormon Musical is always a hit. Spring Awakening and Avenue Q have both been picked up again. There’s a group putting on Repo! at the Playwrights Horizon stage. Or-” He snapped his fingers and smirked. “-there’s a brand new one, off-Broadway, and the reviews have been good. The Gay Agenda!”

Ben, in the middle of a mouthful of coffee, only managed to not spit it out in exchange for choking on the liquid instead. Coughing, he finally gasped out, “It’s called _what?_ ”

The younger man waved his hand, smug. “The Gay Agenda. I’m sure Ted could find a rundown.”

The man in question was already eagerly googling on his cellphone. “Here we go! Reviews, reviews, reviews… ah, the synopsis! _Gale and Randy are the neighborhood’s newest, and nicest, couple - with a deadly secret. They’re hitmen for the Rainbow Road, a criminal group consisting entirely of gay men. And they didn’t move in because the house has a nice backyard. Turns out the couple who lives next door, Charles and Judy, are actually in the Witness Protection Program. Charles used to be a part of the Rainbow Road, until he turned himself in to the FBI, who gave him a new life as a straight man, while his lesbian best friend was made his wife. Now, Judy is embroiled in an elaborate scheme to “out nice” their neighbors, Charles must remind himself of his cover each time Gale or Randy hits on him in their attempts to get him alone, and the proverbial gay couple, quickly losing patience with homeowner’s associations and street barbecues, are seeing how long they can last before they firebomb Rosewood Drive. Who will survive The Gay Agenda?_ ”

In the stunned silence that followed, Kurt casually sipped his drink. “I’ve been twice since it opened, and not just because the actor playing Charles is mouthwatering.”

Finally, Brian snorted, shaking his head in sarcastic disbelief. “To what depths will the American moral system sink?”

Flippantly, Kurt responded, “It’s New York. We who reside there are renowned for our ability to give nary a fuck about expectations or 1950’s morals.”

After a minute where everyone stared at the innocent-looking man, Emmett started helplessly giggling again.

“You sing, you dance, you live in New York and love theater. Are you in any shows?” Ted asked.

Kurt shook his head. “I’ll admit, it was a factor in moving to the city. Unfortunately, I have a unique voice. It’s not easily marketable or in demand. Fashion, however-” He raised a brow and waved down at his outfit. “-didn’t care how high my voice was, or that I looked like a twelve-year-old milkmaid.

“I was lucky enough to land a job a Vogue.com in my first month, and the managing editor, Isabelle Wright, became my unofficial mentor. She’s astonishingly upbeat and positive, despite how cutthroat the industry can be. If I were even a little inclined to the fairer sex, I can guarantee we’d be carrying on a torrid affair,” he gushed. “I adore her.”

Emmett snorted. “Honey, if you were in any way yearning for vagina, you’d have a _rotating bedroom door_.”

Everyone leaned in at that, curious when their new friend flushed and hissed, “ _Emmett_.”

The tall man continued despite the warning. “It’s true!” he exclaimed, and started listing on his fingers. “You’ve got Isabelle, of course, Brittany’s been in love with you since you were both _five_ , then there’s Quinn and Mercedes and Lauren and Gina and Marisol and Kiyo. And that’s not even including Dani and Satan, who are both strictly into pussy, but would trade in a hot second to get in your pants-”

At that, Michael broke in, bemused. “Uh, Satan?”

Kurt huffed and slapped at his cousin. “Her name is _Santana_ , although a few of us do affectionately refer to her as the devil.”

“Affectionately?” Ben questioned, disbelieving.

“Not me!” Emmett said cheerfully. “I call her Satan because she is _terrifying_.”

“We are done with this conversation,” announced Kurt, glaring at his widely smiling relative. Turning to Justin, he determinedly continued, “You mentioned Swan’s exhibit at the The Frances Lehman Loeb Art Center, “White Bored”. I saw it two weeks ago, it was wonderful.”

Chuckling, Justin went along with the subject change. “I’ve seen pictures and read reviews. What was your favorite piece?”

“ _Memo Me_. It was an office worker drone in a cubical, seated in front of a computer. Except every inch of the skin, clothing and hair of the figure itself was made up of notes scribbled on post-its. To do lists and grocery lists, bills that needed paying, or events to plan for, or when relatives would be visiting, and on and on. Swan asked his friends, family, assistants, and even strangers, to fill nearly 30,000 post-its with their reminders.

“It was a commentary on how much of our lives is spent in anticipation of things which are not happening. He suggested that most of society no longer lives in the present, but slingshots back and forth between regrets of the past and anxiety over future events that may never occur.”

From there, the pair descended into a discussion on art and the human condition that no one else was able, or really willing, to follow. Lindsay would have been in the thick of it, had she joined them for the night. Beyond her, none of the group had opinions except that Justin’s art was odd and moving, and Blake’s rarely mentioned obsession with Vincent van Gogh. They let the two get lost in their talking, while the rest of them went back to normal subjects of conversation, like the other hot contestants for King of Babylon, and who was hooking up with who this week.

* * *

Justin noticed Brian’s staring long before Kurt. He let it go through the time at Babylon, the way Brian’s eyes lingered on long limbs and slender torso, and waited until everyone’s attention was elsewhere at the diner and Kurt was caught up expounding a point about Vermeer, before he nudged his partner’s foot. Brian looked over and mouthed, “What?”

Justin nodded over to Kurt and raised his eyebrows, an interested, unspoken question. He wouldn’t be opposed.

Brian started to shake his head, then considered and let a predatory smirk tilt up his lips. “Not _just_ that,” he answered aloud.

Which was when the pair realized Emmett was not only watching their exchange, but openly snickering. “It’s the outfit, isn’t it?” he finally laughed, causing Kurt to cut his little monologue short.

Brian decided to admit a partial truth. “The jacket seems really fucking familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Kurt, tuned into his cousin’s conversation, raised a brow. “I thought you said Brian was a fashion queen?”

Shuddering at the description, Brian glared, then waved at Emmett. “I’m not an _anything_ queen, unlike Pussy Galore the Superbottom over there.”

Which was when Kurt plucked a fry off Emmett’s plate and flicked it at Brian, who flinched back in surprise, causing the thrown food to hit his shirt and fall into his lap.

For a moment, there was a dead silence as everyone stared. Then Emmett burst into gales of laughter, hugging his cousin to his side. “Oh my _god_ , Kurty!”

Kurt cooly ate a bite of his salad. “You’re nearly 40, Brian. But if you’d like to talk like a twelve-year-old, I’m happy to treat you like one.” A sip of his drink. “As for my clothes, they’re from an up-and-coming fashion house in New York. My job allows me to spend a great deal of time flicking through next season’s big designs.”

A growled, “Whoever told him how old I am is _dead_ ,” at the group left Ted scared, while Emmett kept grinning. Then Brian pointed at Kurt, expectant. “So, what’s the company?”

“You’ll just have to figure it out on your own,” he smirked.

Emmett finally thought to ask, “Speaking of work, who was that calling earlier?”

“Elliott. Apparently there was a little problem with the new project.”

“Oh no! What happened?” Emmett gasped.

Kurt rolled his eyes and responded, in a tone that said it should explain everything, “ _Dani_ happened.”

“Dani?” Ted asked.

“One of my co-workers. We’ve got a big showcase coming up, and I mostly finished the main piece before coming here. There were a few details that needed buttoning up, and I left them to the three people in my group. But Dani apparently got creative at the wrong moment, and Elliott needed me to talk him through fixing everything.”

“Elliott and Danny?” Michael commented. “Do you work with any girls?”

“Dani is a _female_ friend,” Kurt corrected. “Emmett mentioned her earlier.”

Pushing aside his plate, Brian cocked his head. “Was she one of the lesbians?”

“Yes,” Kurt responded. “She’s actually in a relationship with two of my other best friends, Santana and Brittany. And George, Brittany’s boyfriend.”

“Huh?” several of their group said at once.

“It’s a little confusing to explain.” Kurt ran a hand lightly through his hair, considering, then half-sighed, half-laughed. “It starts with Brit and Santana, who’ve been together on-and-off since junior high. Brittany’s pansexual, while Santana’s a lesbian.

“When Santana started college, they decided to give one another space. They didn’t want to worry about cheating if either of them met someone while they were physically separated. So when I started working with Dani, and then introduced her to Santana, they hit it off and were sleeping together inside of two weeks. They were a couple for a year and a half when Brittany approached them, saying she wanted to get back together with Santana. And Dani wasn’t necessarily opposed, as long as all three of them were dating.

“Which was when Brittany brought up the fact she had a boyfriend, George. Britt is polyamorous and has always felt confined by the idea of a two-person relationship, so it didn’t seem like a strange request to her. Santana and Dani got to know George, who never expected anything from them and was head-over-heels in love with Brittany and had no problem with her having girlfriends, and they’ve been an odd quartet for going on four years now.”

Ted was flabbergasted. “And it actually works?”

Taking a sip of his diet coke, Kurt smiled. “Any of them will admit that the first few months were a mess of misunderstandings and fights and hurt feelings. Since then, they’ve learned to communicate. And no one’s come crying to me since then, so I can only assume they’re fine.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Michael asked, incredulous.

Kurt’s eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down sharply. “Do you have any idea the shit they get for simply being happy? They have complete strangers, people uninvolved in their lives in any way, passing judgement on them. Straight people, who are unwilling to learn how it works. Bisexual people, who think they’re being greedy. Gay people, who accuse Brittany of terrible things, of being unwilling to classify herself, of dragging Santana and Dani along while she decides whether she “really is a lesbian”. They were banned for two years from their local LGBTQ community center by a self-righteous, little asshole of a councilmen, who claimed any relationship with more than two people wasn’t a _real_ relationship.

“The new councilwoman still apologizes every time she passes them in the neighborhood.” Pausing to get his temper back under control when he realized how high his voice had risen, Kurt took a slow breath. “Yes. I am _fine_ with it. If they’re happy, that is all I care about. And I’ll support them in their right to be together and in love for as long as it lasts, be it ‘til the end of this month, or the end of their lives.”

There was a moment of tense silence.

“Dani is amazing,” Kurt continued forcibly. “Unpredictable at times, but when she cares about something, or someone, she’s passionate as hell.” Then his phone beeped, and he sighed. “She’s also a bit of a wild card. Thus the fact that I currently have a text from ‘Sugar Tits’.”

He held up the cell for everyone to see, and the picture was a close up of a lovely pair of breasts in a rainbow, sequin-covered overbust corset. “She has a tendency to steal my phone and change the names and pictures of my contacts. And I know my phone wasn’t in my pocket for about twenty minutes yesterday, so I have no idea who else she changed. Oh, Elliott, obviously. When he called earlier, he was The Entertainment. And his picture was…” He paused and thumbed through the address book in his cell, before grinning and turning the picture to face the group. This time it was a pair of muscular crossed arms covered in curving and geometric tattoos.

“And of my coworkers, the last is Adam. She wouldn’t change theirs and not do the same to his. Let’s see.” Poking at the screen, he stared, then started giggling wildly.

Emmett plucked the phone from his shaking hands when it became clear Kurt would be a minute. The photo was a lovely ass in well-worn, rust colored jeans. And the identifying name was ‘Ass&Crumpets’.

Finally, Kurt pulled himself together. Taking in the confused expressions, he explained, “Adam is _very_ British. Born in Wales, grew up with his mom in England. Santana and Dani comment on it all the time, and Dani tends to badly copy his accent or random phrases. Tea and crumpets is a British thing, thus Ass &Crumpets.”

“That butt, plus an accent?” Emmett teased. “Well, slap my ass and call me Sally, I’d like to get better acquainted with him.”

Laughing at his cousin, Kurt poked at the screen, pulling up a full picture of the trio, smiling, arms around one another with Kurt in the middle. “They really all would have done well as models or performers,” he admitted. “But, they wanted to create, and fell into my life at just the right moment to make it that much more wonderful. I’m lucky, because they’re great workers, but even better friends.”

The group was impressed. Kurt was right, all three were gorgeous in their own way. To hear him brag simply increased their worth in the opinion of the diner gang.

In the end, Brian broke the moment, joking, “So, which one of the guys are you fucking?”

Vehemently, Kurt shook his head. “Oh Gaga, no. I don’t date anyone I work with. I learned that from my first ex. I mean, technically that was a show choir, instead of a job, but the concept is the same.”

“It doesn’t have to involve dating,” he winked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I’m bad at one night stands, and Elliott and Adam are both amazing men, not to mention hot as hell. If I cross that line, there’s no going back. I’m not willing to risk the friendships I already have on a bad bet.”

“Your loss,” Brian scoffed, knowing it was hypocritical when he had a similar rule since the mess with Kip.

“So, inquiring minds want to know,” Emmett beamed and nudged Ted.

The accountant flinched, then admitted, “I’ve got $50 riding on which sexual position you prefer.”

The response was unexpected. Kurt raised a brow in amusement and scoffed. “How heteronormative of you.” Pursing his lips, he glanced at the group, then sighed lightly. “And that’s the wrong question, anyway.”

“Oh?” Brian leaned in, ever more intrigued.

A quick sip of his drink, and Kurt let his eyes slide past them to watch a trio of customers exit the diner. He hummed a few lines of a song*, before turning his focus back to his cousin’s coterie and the smile on his face was calculated, giving nothing away. “I think I’ll let you all guess first.”

Turning to Justin, he raised a brow. Justin chuckled. “Top. Definitely.”

When all eyes went to Emmett, he shook his head. “I’m not saying, boys.”

Ted was next, and he shrugged. “Bottom.”

“The same,” Blake nodded.

On the other hand, Ben shook his head at the pair. “I concur with Justin.” He met Kurt’s eyes confidently. “Top.”

Michael laughed and smiled at Ben. “I hate to disagree with you, honey, but my guess is bottom.”

Finally, only Brian remained. He studied Kurt carefully, then grinned. “It’s a sucker’s bet. I’m with Em, I’d rather hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

Kurt chuckled dryly. “I’m unimpressed. And I’m going to hold off telling you, until at _least_ dinner at your wonderful mother’s, Michael. I am still invited, correct, Deb?” he called over his shoulder.

The passing waitress paused long enough to loudly assure him, “Absolutely, Angel!”

He returned her smile, then pulled out his wallet. “Well, this has been fun, but if I’m supposed to be awake for Emmett’s extensively planned “tour of Liberty” tomorrow, I really need to head back to the hotel. Em?”

The tall man nodded, going to grab his own money, only to see that Kurt had already put down enough to cover both of their meals and leave a good tip. “Kurty, you don’t have to-”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt pulled on his coat and pushed his relative out of the booth. “Shut up and move, Emmett. I make more than enough to treat my cousin to a fun week.” Turning back to the group as he straightened his outfit, Kurt took a moment to meet each person’s eyes. “It was wonderful meeting all of you. I hope I’ll see you before Wednesday, but if not…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Goodnight.”

As the two left the building, they glanced back to see everyone else beginning to gather themselves for their own trips home.

“We should bring Justin tomorrow,” Emmett suggested, pulling his faux fur trenchcoat closer against the slight chill. “I know he has the day free, and you two seemed to hit it off.”

Kurt laughed. “I think you mean _today_ , Em. It’s past three in the morning.”

That just earned a mocking gasp. “Are we out too late for your delicate sensibilities?”

Shaking his head, the countertenor chose not to respond, instead stepping to the curb to flag down a taxi.

“Kurt?” Emmett asked, a little hesitant.

“Hm?”

Searching, his tone serious, Emmett questioned, “Do you _really_ like them?

Turning, Kurt tilted his head, expression indulgent yet intent, and nodded. “They’re a strange group. Not that I can judge. But they make you happy. And I do like them.”

At that, Emmett beamed. “Oh, thank god!”

Kurt scoffed. “Deities had nothing to do with it. Now get in the damn taxi, Emmett. I have a nice, plush bed waiting for me with 1,500 thread-count sheets back at the hotel, and I have no plans to avoid it.”

With a chuckle, the man followed his young cousin’s instructions, scooting over so Kurt could sit beside him, and with a slam of the door, the car pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *He was humming Venus in Furs, by The Velvet Underground.  
> Also, the “White Bored” exhibit is from an episode of White Collar (S2Ep7), and I made up the Memo Me piece.


	3. Day 2 (Sunday) - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO ACCURATELY REFLECT POSSIBLE TRIGGERS. Please check them before reading. As mentioned, all possible triggers are discussed, but do not occur in the course of this story.

“ _…arms open wide. This fever for you is just burning me up insiiiide!_ ”

Emmett woke up groggy, and began cursing himself for setting an alarm, because that was definitely music. Groping for the phone he’d plugged in and dropped on the bedside table the night before, he tried to turn it off, taking in the time. 10:12 AM. He groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow as he wondered how drunk he must have been to think that was a reasonable time for an alarm, then peered back at the cell, realizing the familiar clock icon wasn’t showing and the music hadn’t stopped.

“ _Is that alright? I drove all niiii-iiii-iiiiight!_ ”

As the last note stretched, loud and powerful, Emmett finally recognized the voice. The song continued as Emmett freed his phone from the cord, then rolled reluctantly out of bed, grabbing the green silk kimono he’d hung on the hook beside the half-open door.

Heading out into the hotel suite, he paused and took in the scene in the little kitchenette. Kurt was swaying as he sang, back to his cousin while he cooked something on the stove. By the smell, Emmett guessed bacon. His phone sat on the table, quietly playing, and Kurt’s enthusiastic performance had long since overpowered the 80’s power chords coming from it.

“ _I drove all niiiight to get to you. Is that alright? I drove all niiiight, crept in your room. Woke you from your sleep_ -”

Emmett snorted. “Yes, you did. Although hopefully not for the lovely Cyndi’s reasons.”

In response, Kurt yelped, dropped the spatula and spun to face his cousin. “Oh, sweet Whitney Houston!”

Stumbling over to drop onto a chair at the little table, Emmett propped his chin up with his hand and asked, fond and puzzled, “Why, in the name of _god_ , are you awake?”

Kurt huffed at the mention of deity, before bending to grab the spatula and gestured at his cell, sitting beside Emmett’s elbow. Reaching out, the man poked at the display until the music was down to a low, background hum.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kurt confessed, turning down the heat on the stove as he moved to the sink.

“Bad dreams?” Emmett asked, his eyes scanning over the food already set out and ready. A plate of crepes, chopped fruit, a container of something white and whipped, and a saucepan beside the bacon, full of something that smelled like vanilla.

Rinsing the kitchen implement, Kurt rolled his eyes. “More like pointless anxiety and guilt,” he explained, before drying the spatula and heading back for the frying bacon. “Elliott told me he fixed the suit, he even knows me well enough to send pictures. And Adam forced Dani to go home and get a full night’s sleep.” Turning off the heat altogether, he waited a moment, then scooped the bacon onto a waiting plate, patting the strips lightly with a paper towel to soak up some of the grease. “Apparently, she was powering through the last week with short naps and a truly criminal amount of caffeine. And this is _me_ saying that,” he snorted. “All so we could finish the collection before I was expected here.” He pulled down two more plates and began to pile up the different breakfast ingredients, before pausing at the fridge to pull out drinks. “Thus her short-lived, if panic-inducing, blunder. Do you want milk, or juice?”

Emmett shook his head, still sleepy. “How can you be this wordy with no sleep?”

Holding up a coffee mug, Kurt winced. “This is my fourth cup.”

Emmett took in the drink, and let out a pathetic whimper. To which Kurt smirked. “Did you want coffee, instead?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph _, please_.”

Obediently, Kurt poured a stream into a mug, adding cream and sugar and passing it over.

Emmett took a sip, then groaned when he confirmed it had been doctored to his taste. With the coffee still too hot to gulp, Emmett contented himself with long slurps. The warmth was wonderful, and it wasn’t long before he felt the familiar jolt from the caffeine.

Kurt had already turned back to the food and was plating their breakfast, humming along to the newest song on his phone. Emmett recognized it, and started to giggle. “Cher, Kurty?”

With a mildly embarrassed laugh, Kurt admitted, “Adam made up a Best of ‘89 playlist, and insisted we all download it. It’s all we’ve been listening to in the workroom for weeks.” He walked over to the table and passed Emmett a plate.

The crepes were piled atop one another, filled with the white stuff and topped with whipped cream and fruit. They had been drizzled with a pale, sweet sauce. Thick slices of bacon were laid out beside them. It looked like something off a food blog, and Emmett cooed, before picking up a fork. “Vic would have loved you.”

Bringing over his own plate, Kurt sat across from his cousin and passed him a fork and knife. “That was Debbie’s brother?”

Emmett nodded, smile a mix of happiness and distant pain. “Yeah. He died a few years back.” Shaking off the melancholy, he grinned at Kurt. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you, but he was a hotshot professional chef in his twenties and thirties. When I was first getting my party business started, he was my go-to for food.”

Kurt tilted his head, curious. “What was he like?”

“Kind. Lecherous. Proud,” Emmett sighed. “He and Deb had a fight the week before- well…

“Deb gave up a huge portion of her life to helping him through his illness, and he felt guilty about it. And Debbie, she got so used to being necessary to him that when he finally pulled everything together and was comfortable becoming independent of her, she didn’t know what to do with herself. So she kept trying to be his caretaker, and he kept saying he didn’t need her, and it all blew up in their faces. They didn’t manage to fix it before he passed away,” Emmett admitted quietly. “For a while, Debbie was so lost. Things worked themselves out, but it was tough. And for most of the group, talking about Vic still hurts.”

“How did he die?” asked Kurt.

“Heart failure,” Emmett scoffed. “That old queen lasted _decades_ with AIDS, and then his stress level and the medication he was taking caused his blood pressure to shoot sky high, and we lost him.”

Kurt bit his lip, then announced, “And that’s why I’ll continue to badger my father about exercise and healthy eating. If it’s up to me, he’ll live past 100.”

With a grimace, Emmett shook his head. “Ugh. Not me. Give me a respectable 70-something years, then toss my gorgeous self in a good, solid coffin. Make sure I get a lovely epitaph about my great ass and my stunning party planning abilities, and I’ll call it a life.”

Kurt delicately snorted, but didn’t say anything.

From there, the pair ate in relative silence, one or both occasionally humming or singing along to the playlist’s latest offering. They made it through seven songs before Kurt stood, plate in hand, and headed for the sink.

Emmett jumped up to block his way. “I can clean up, Kurty,” he offered. Kurt tried to protest, but Emmett shook his head. Teasing, he added. “I’ve been hearing from your father for _years_ how long you take to get ready. I can take care of this, and that way we won’t be hours late.”

Indignant, Kurt protested, “I haven’t lived with my father in _seven years_ , Em.”

“Still,” Emmett shrugged, raising his brow knowingly.

While Kurt collected his phone before heading off to his room, Emmett pulled out his own and texted Justin.  **I’m clearing up breakfast and Kurt has to get pretty, so we should be heading out in an hour. Did you still want to come along?**

Emmett had finished bagging the fruit and filled the sink up with soapy water, when his phone chimed.

**I’ll be ready and waiting!**

This was followed up less than a minute later by a secondary text.

**Brian wanted to tag along. You know, he thinks Kurt is fascinating. So do I, for that matter. Unfortunately, he’s got a prior commitment, so it will be just be the three of us today.**

Emmett smirked. Justin and Brian were biting off more than they could chew, and it was going to be hilarious.

* * *

Half a day later they had stopped in at Emmett’s old place of business, Torso, and he was ruefully considering his earlier thoughts. He should have remembered that _he_ shouldn’t underestimate his cousin, either.

They were on the eighth store in two hours, and it was Justin sitting back, thoroughly entertained by the Kurt-&-Emmett Floor Show.

“Everything in here looks like 2003 threw up on it!” Kurt declared, appalled and refusing to move from his seat, for fear someone would try to put him in a leopard print item of any kind. “The only people who still wear vinyl are cosplayers and fetishists.”

Emmett, offended at his cousin’s mockery of his former workplace, held up a shirt and tried to protest. “Well, what about-!”

To which Kurt cringed back in his seat, looking like a vampire faced by the biggest crucifix imaginable. “Is that a _day-glo green, mesh croptop?_ ” he yelled. “Emmett, I will personally insult Anna Wintour before I will acknowledge that that so-called “style” was _ever_ a good idea!”

Justin, leaning against the nearest wall, had spent the majority of their time in the store trying his damnedest not to laugh. Kurt was _vicious_.

“You liked my outfit last night!” Emmett pouted.

Kurt shook his head and continued to glare at the hideous shirt. “I didn’t _comment_ on your outfit last night, Em. The charcoal pants were a reasonable shade and fit. The maroon, shin-high boots were fine. Even the sleeveless top was a classic cut, although the silver disco pattern made me dizzy. But if you think I’m leaving Pittsburgh without burning that orange monstrosity you call a coat, you’re deluded.”

Outraged, Emmett threw down the top, demanding, “What was wrong with my coat?

Kurt’s brows rose in disbelief, and before he declared, deadpan, “That coat looks like the skinned remains of four or five Muppets sewn together.”

Emmett gasped, like a Southern belle whose chastity had just been questioned in church.

And Justin couldn’t take it anymore. He started guffawing, clutching at his sides, laughing too hard to breathe. Between gasps, he barely got out, “Fuck- Fuck, he’s _right!_ ”

At the confirmation, Kurt preened. “Of course I am.” Finally rising from his seat, Kurt skirted a pile of discarded clothing. “Emmett, it is high time someone threw you an Outfit Intervention, so I’ve appointed myself to the task.

“You have a decent grasp of color coordination, even if you tend to take it too far, and you are good at finding shirts that show off your shoulders, but you need to step away from the PVC pants, the jean jackets, and the randomly fringed… _everything_.

“You are not a hipster, you are not high at Burning Man, you _do not have an excuse_ for that lace up, orange-and-blue striped shirt with the sequined hem and neckline! It isn’t flattering, it isn’t fashionable, and I refuse to be seen with you when you come to visit me for Fashion Week if you still own it.”

Emmett opened his mouth to whine, then paused, eyes gleaming with a creepy light. “Fashion Week?” he echoed.

Studying his nails, Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. “You let me fix _this_ -” He waved at his cousin’s current outfit. “-and I’ll pay for your damn plane ticket. I’ll even let you stay at my apartment, instead of shunting you off to a hotel.”

For close to a minute, Emmett considered the offer, looking back and forth between the dropped croptop, and Kurt, before he finally sighed heavily. “Fine.”

“Thank Beyoncé,” Kurt sighed. “Now can we _please_ go back to that nice menswear place we passed two blocks ago? Based on their window displays, I’d guess they have a few good piece with which we can start your all new wardrobe.”

At that Justin, raised a hand like he was asking a teacher’s permission to speak. “Um, can we stop for food first? I’m starving, and Thaidal Wave should be open for dinner by now.”

Freezing, Kurt turned apologetically to the blond. “Oh, sweet Gaga, we’ve been dragging you around for hours now. I’m so sorry, Justin,” he offered.

His response was a laugh, and Justin shook his head. “It’s fine. This has been entertaining as hell. And could we stop by the community center on the way?” he asked, pulling back on his satchel as he stood. “I promised the new coordinator I’d stop in sometime today.”

“Oh?” Kurt queried.

Emmett proudly hopped in, “He donates one or two paintings a year for them to auction off.”

“These ones are actually going to be a permanent display. I just have a few papers to sign, transferring ownership to the Center,” Justin spoke, tugging his bag straight.

“It _is_ on the way,” Emmett pointed out.

“I don’t mind,” Kurt said. “And I’d love to see some of your art. Emmett’s raved, but -as we’ve sufficiently proven-” He gestured around at the shop. “-his judgement can be a little skewed.”

With an angry huff, Emmett dropped the shirt and stomped straight through the store exit.

Nudging the top aside with his well-clad foot, Kurt winked at Justin. “No shopping trip is complete without a diva storm out. I learned that early; My high school friend Mercedes had an issue with rainbow zebra stripes.”

Justin once again started laughing, loud and long, as he followed the other men out.

* * *

When they arrived at the building, Justin took the lead, heading straight in and toward the coordinator’s office just off the main room. Kurt and Emmett followed him only as far as the open space, when Kurt’s eyes caught on an art display.

Two paintings hung on the wall opposite the entrance. They were the first thing the eye was drawn to in the space.

One was a dark abstract that gave Kurt the shivers. The other was a large, 1950’s-style pop art depiction of a familiar, superpowered character, and his lover.

Pausing, Kurt walked across the room to stare at the painting on the left. “Justin is the artist of _Rage_?”

In turn, Emmett’s mouth dropped open. “You read _Rage_?”

“ _Sebastian_ is obsessed with it,” Kurt protested, then sighed and admitted, “And Santana likes to read the dialogue from the sex scenes aloud.”

At that, Emmett couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Oh my god, your friends are-”

Kurt cut him off, holding up a hand to stop him. “Good Gaga, you _cannot_ judge, considering your own and the tales you’ve told.” He tilted his head as he considered the art and let out a pleased little “ah!”

“What?” Emmett asked.

“I _knew_ Justin seemed oddly familiar.” He waved at the painting. “JT’s look and personality are based on Justin, aren’t they? And Rage is Brian.”

Emmett nodded.

“So Zephyr and his paleontologist husband are Michael and Ben?” Kurt guessed.

Another nod, this time accompanied by a proud, “Mm-hm.”

Considering the other piece, Kurt tilted his head, taking in the full effect.

“What do you think?” Emmett asked.

Kurt’s response was a low hum.

Coming up from behind them, Justin stepped forward, stopping on Kurt’s right. “I’d like to know that, too,” he admitted.

With a sidelong glance, Kurt began to ramble. “The technique is bold. Broad. Heavy. There’s a strident confidence to the strokes, a familiarity and enjoyment of manipulating the paints. The colors are reminiscent of Chagall. The dark, almost chalky tones of blue against the paler marigolds and ochres fill the canvas. The dichotomy is arresting.”

After a minute of listening, Justin leaned closer and met Kurt’s gaze. “Okay. But what do you think of the painting _itself_?”

Kurt glanced down, then back up, a challenge in his eyes. “Do you want an honest opinion?”

That had Justin caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Shaking his head, Kurt bit his lip, then explained. “Some artists want an honest critique. They want to know how the viewer instinctively reacts, what they feel. Others only crave having their ego stroked. All they want is to hear their own opinions and expectations mirrored back at them.” He paused, huffed. “Let’s just say I’ve know both kinds. Which one are you?”

Justin pushed a hand through his hair, a little taken aback. “The first. I value art as a living medium. It’s a way to connect people with vastly diverse life experiences. Real art,” he insisted, “should affect each viewer a little differently.”

Now Kurt appeared surprised, then offered the artist a slight smile. “I hate it,” he declared. “I don’t know the story behind it, only the impression I get, which is overpowering helplessness. Not a feeling I happily take on.” He swallowed, then continued, “It makes me think of a bad period in my life, when I thought I’d lost all control and was simply responding to the actions of someone who was systematically terrorizing me. I’m not enjoying studying it.”

Emmett seemed shocked and sad, while Justin looked thoughtful, concerned for his new friend.

Taking in their expressions, Kurt turned his back to the piece and offered a softer, more genuine smile. “But I would consider it good art _because_ it makes me feel. I wouldn’t buy it to display. On the other hand, I would think about it later and discuss it with friends. You have talent, Justin.”

Slowly, the bright smile that had earned him his nickname appeared on Justin’s face, and he caught Kurt’s hand loosely in his own. “Thank you.” Pulling away, he purposefully checked his watch, to give Kurt a moment to gather himself. Then he actually saw the time. “We need to get going if we want to make it to the restaurant before the early dinner crowd.”

As they headed out and began their walk to the restaurant, Kurt took a slow breath, then asked, “So, what _is_ the story behind the painting’s creation?”

Looking back over his shoulder, Justin considered Kurt for a moment, then slowed to walk beside him. “Did you read the news, or did Emmett ever mention the bomb someone set off at Babylon a few years ago?”

Kurt automatically reached out and squeezed his cousin’s hand. “He did. My dad heard about it on the news and I called Em, frantic. I set him off, he set me off, and we got to share a panic attack on the phone.” Kurt tried to laugh it off, but failed. “Then he told me Michael was hurt and his friend Dusty was dead.”

Holding Kurt’s hand just as tightly, Emmett’s whole body was tensed as he remembered. “That was… a _very_ bad week,” he admitted, suppressing the tears that still showed up any time the attack was mentioned, even years later.

“Yeah,” Justin agreed, eyes on the ground as the memories threatened to overwhelm him. Shaking it off as best he could, he refocused on the original topic. “I started that painting right after. I needed to create something. It’s the best way I’ve found to cope with a loss.”

They walked in silence for a moment, before he spoke again, fond and slightly wistful. “Brian actually proposed while I was working on it. I turned him down.”

Emmett spun. “Wait. What? You said yes!” he insisted.

Justin snorted, amused. “Not the first time.”

Beginning to perk up following the heavy topic, Kurt’s smile returned. “Oh, this sounds good. Em told me about the surprise announcement and the elaborate plans and the wedding cancellation, but no specifics. So, Brian asked…?”

Now Justin was flat out grinning. “Yeah. Two days after the bombing. We weren’t even together at the time. We’d split up months earlier,” he pointed out. “I wanted guarantees and promises Brian wasn’t willing to give, because he wasn’t sure he could keep them. And when he swears he’ll do something, he’ll kill himself to make sure he isn’t lying.”

Emmett scoffed. “That’s an understatement, hon.”

“And I thought-” Justin caught Kurt’s eye. “He’d never said he loved me. He showed it, all the goddamn time, but I needed the words.”

Emmett, knowing how the story went, beamed at the blond man. Justin responded with a blinding smile.

“He told me,” he said, looking at Kurt. “Then he asked me to marry him, and I- I figured he was just scared.”

Emmett let go of Kurt to straighten his coat, forcing away the old feelings, while agreeing, “We all were.”

“Anyway,” Justin continued, “I said no. But he was fucking _determined_. He went out and bought a mansion, he put the loft and the club on the market, he offered me everything I ever thought I wanted.”

Emmett fake coughed, “ _Monogamy_.” And Kurt raised a brow.

At that, Justin nodded. “Yeah. We’d had fights about that before, big ones. And we finally figured out something that works, but not until _after_ the almost-wedding.” They had reached the restaurant, and Kurt caught the door, pulling it open for the other two. “It’s why I called the whole thing off. He was trying so hard to be who he thought I wanted that he stopped being Brian,” said Justin, catching the next door for Kurt and Emmett.

“But things are good now?” Kurt asked, wanting the reassurance.

Justin’s face lit up with happiness. “Yeah. It’s a non-traditional relationship. We still trick at Babylon, or pick up guys, but it’s always together. It’s always someone we agree on.” Justin blushed. “Turns out my problem wasn’t Brian screwing other men, it was him doing it when I wasn’t around or involved.”

Emmett held a quick conversation with the host, one ear on Justin’s story, and they were led to a table.

“Once we figured that out…” Justin trailed off, looking pleased.

Kurt took his seat and flipped open the menu. “I’m glad.” As he perused the options, he admitted, “I’ve never quite worked out how to be that honest with a partner. And then I’m stuck vacillating back-and-forth between utterly supportive doormat, and a raging, take-no-prisoners bitch. It’s not a good way to build a relationship,” he snorted.

At that, Emmett laughed. “Oh, these boys spent _years_ working it out. You should have seen the pair of them the first however many months they were a thing.” Turning to Justin, Emmett slapped the table. “And yes, I call it a “thing” instead of relationship. Back then, neither of you had a clue which way was up, and you’d probably both rather have gone hunting in the woods outside of Hazlehurst _naked_ than called it a relationship.”

Justin couldn’t deny it.

The waitress stopped by and they placed drink orders, while Justin went red in the face, thoughts going back to his first few interactions with his partner. “God, I was an annoying teenage twat. Why the hell did Brian put up with me?”

Having decided what he wanted, Emmett closed his menu and wisely announced, “You’ve always had a perfect bubble butt, and you worshipped the most narcissistic version of Brian as your own personal sex god.”

The blush worsened, but now it was different memories filling Justin’s mind, and his smirk was wolfish and satisfied. “Oh yeah.”

Emmett was also thinking back, remembering a 16-year-old, shirtless twink showing up at Babylon and poaching Brian’s dance partners, just to catch the man’s attention. “I will admit, we were all shocked when he took you back to the loft a second time.”

Justin turned to Kurt. “He didn’t do repeats.”

“He still doesn’t,” Emmett pointed out. “Just you, baby.”

Putting aside his own menu, Kurt propped his chin on his hand and considered Justin, then offered him a sweet, understanding smile. “Brian’s your safe place.”

Justin blinked, then nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “He is. Even before everything went down with Hobbs, Brian was the one who encouraged me to be the best gay man I could be, he’s the one who found me a place when my dad kicked me out. He took care of me, watched out for me, no matter how hard he protested doing exactly that.”

“Hobbs?” asked Kurt.

The color drained out of Emmett’s face, and Justin went momentarily still.

Kurt, recognizing he’d stepped on a landmine, quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I- I don’t know what I said, but it’s clearly a bad topic.”

Justin unconsciously massaged at his wrist, then shook his head. “No. I’ve come to terms with it. I mean, for god’s sake, I brought it up to a team of sharks in suits at a Hollywood production meeting to make a point. I’m just… not used to people who don’t already _know_. It was a huge local news piece at the time, and made national headlines once or twice.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, then it’s none of my business,” Kurt firmly responded.

Luckily, that was when the waitress returned with their drinks. Checking if they were ready to order, they all told her what they wanted and passed over their menus, then sat in silence for a moment. Kurt sipped his iced tea, Emmett took a fortifying gulp of wine, and Justin let his fingers play over his beer bottle. Finally, Justin caught Kurt’s eye. “I’d like to tell you, I think.”

Surprised, Kurt nodded. “Alright.”

“Chris Hobbs was a guy I went to high school with,” Justin began. “At the time, I just assumed he was a complete homophobe. He bullied me, baited me, set my locker on fire. When Brian showed up to our prom and danced with me, Hobbs followed us out to the parking lot and beat my head in with a baseball bat. I was in a coma, and then rehab, for almost six months and I still have neurological damage that makes my hand shake if I paint or sketch or do anything that requires fine motor skills for too long.”

He glanced up to find Kurt watching, sympathetic. Justin was gratified that he didn’t see any pity.

“The complicated part,” Justin added, “is that the older I get, the more I wonder about Hobbs.”

“What do you mean?” Emmett asked, wrinkling his nose.

Justin tapped at the tabletop. “The whole thing started with me giving him a hand job,” he pointed out. “Someone who completely hated homosexuality would never have done that. I mean, a hand job’s a hand job, but a true homophobe wouldn’t want to so much as be touched sexually by another guy. It makes me think that maybe Hobbs was terrified of himself and his reaction to me more than anything. I met his parents once, before everything went bad senior year. They were worse than my dad.”

A quick swallow of his beer, focus far away, Justin said, “If Hobbs was attracted to me, or men in general, how much of what happened was him lashing out in denial?”

A choked noise draw their attention to Kurt, who had blanched, eyes huge and shocked in his already pale face.

“Kurty?” Emmett brushed his cousin’s arm, worried.

Glancing up and taking in their concerned expressions, Kurt sighed. “Sorry, I’m just- it’s a familiar story, that’s all,” he softly admitted.

Justin blinked. “How so?”

Which was when the waitress brought out their meals. It gave them all a minute to calm down, and for Kurt to take a deep breath. He made it two bites into the food, which had looked delicious on the menu and was now making his stomach turn. Stress and bad memories had always had a negative impact on Kurt’s appetite.

“I need to start by saying that what happened to me wasn’t the same,” Kurt declared. “It never escalated to that level of violence. And the boy in question has figured himself out, come to terms with his sexuality. He’s happily married. I forgave him a long time ago. But bits of your story reminded me, and the memories are still… vivid.”

Putting down his utensils, Justin watched Kurt, enthralled by the range of expressions that had passed over his delicate face. He was scared to hear what had happened, but caught by the contrast of vulnerability and steel core that Kurt revealed. God, he wanted to sketch him. It had been itching at him all day.

Emmett, on the other hand, was simply upset. Someone had put that fear in Kurt’s eyes, and he was furious with them for causing such a profound response from his vivacious cousin. And he was disappointed in himself. He had never heard this tale, and was left to wonder why Kurt hadn’t shared it before.

“When we were talking about my reaction to your painting, that was- that was Dave. Karofsky, then. He was a jock, football and hockey. He wasn’t my only bully. Gaga, the whole top tier of the school consisted entirely of bullies. If you weren’t pushing someone down, you didn’t deserve to be on top, was the thought process,” Kurt said, waving a hand as the old emotions trickled back in.

“Junior year, his harassment became focused entirely on me, not just any loser. He was everywhere. And I was afraid, and in physical pain from being slammed into walls and locker doors, and tired of only ever reacting to him, so one day I confronted him. And he kissed me.”

Mouths dropped open, and the other men were speechless.

Kurt hurried on before they could find their words. “He spent weeks after that stalking me, doing everything in his power to make me believe he was going to rape and murder me. He was so scared of someone finding out he was gay that he threatened to kill me if I told anyone. He told me later that he wanted me so profoundly panicked that I wouldn’t dare say a thing.”

In the momentary quiet that followed, Kurt pushed his plate away, but took several long drinks of his iced tea. “Santana found out and blackmailed him into apologizing, but by then I’d already switched schools to get away. We worked things out. He really was sorry for what he’d done, and the things he’d said.

“Senior year, I went back to McKinley, and he transferred to another school. A few months into the school year, one of his classmates discovered Dave was gay and spread it around campus. David tried to kill himself.” Kurt swallowed heavily, then forced a lighter tone into his voice. “He’s better, now. He’s out of the closet and, like I said, married. To a great guy, named Ian. Dave’s working on a BA in adolescent psychology. We keep in touch.”

It was Emmett who finally spoke, subdued. “Oh my god, Kurt. I didn’t know that’s why you changed schools.”

Kurt forced himself to meet his cousin’s gaze. “I didn’t _want_ anyone to know. Besides my dad, who doesn’t know about the kiss, Santana, an ex-boyfriend and two friends are the only ones I’ve confided the whole story to in the years since. No one else has any idea how bad it got.”

Giving in to the urge, Justin caught Kurt’s hand tightly. “God, that sucks.”

Turning, face close to his new friend’s, Kurt protested, “There are similar elements, but it’s not the same.”

Justin shook his head. “Trauma is trauma, Kurt. The degrees thereof don’t matter. What matters is the effect it’s had on you.”

In a joking tone, Emmett offered, “The worst I ever had was when Aunt Judy and that bitch, Granny Marge tried to exorcise the devil of homosexuality out of me when I was ten.”

They all half-laughed at that, then Kurt scowled and plaintively asked, “Why do we do that?”

Emmett raised a brow. “What?”

Frowning, Kurt expanded on his question. “Pretend it doesn’t matter. Pretend there aren’t men I’ll pass on the street that look like Dave and I want to run, or ignore that Emmett avoided that old harpy Marge’s funeral and hasn’t spoken to Great Aunt Judy in years.”

Justin chimed in, voice subdued, “Or that I don’t have days where I can’t stand crowds, and Brian calls off work so we can hole up in the loft together and act like the world outside doesn’t exist.”

After a few moments, Emmett replied, “ ‘cause it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t matter, than that some hateful asshole might’ve changed who we are.”

At that, they all sighed, then turned their attention determinedly to the food, which had begun to go cold.

“So, what do you look for in a hook up?” Justin asked, tone flirtatious.

Emmett rolled his eyes. “You just want to brag about Brian.”

Grabbing on to the new topic with both hands, Kurt waved off his relative. “No, no. Go on, Justin. I’d like to hear all about Brian, The Great and Sexual.”

Grinning, Justin happily shared information that was not at all appropriate to such a public venue. And Kurt found himself astonished, unsure what was the truth and what was exaggeration, and Em was no help at all, as he just kept giggling.

* * *

When Justin got back to the loft, he was grateful to see Brian lounging in bed in jeans, reading. Yanking off his satchel, jacket and boots, he left them abandoned on the floor on his way to the platform. Standing beside it, the shirt and pants went too, until he fell face forward on the bed next to his partner, wearing only boxer briefs. Moving closer to Brian, he curled up beside him.

Dropping the book on his bedside table, Brian reached back to mess up Justin’s hair. “How’d your date with Auntie Em and the new kid go?”

“Kurt is…” He considered and discarded a hundred descriptors. “I can’t accurately explain. He’s hot and determined. Opinionated. Protective of his friends. And I can’t tell if he has a martyr complex, or is genuinely kind.”

As one who had never had much success with kindness, Brian asked, “Oh?”

Justin threw an arm across Brian. “He had his own Hobbs.” He felt Brian tense at that, and rubbed at his partner’s stomach. “Only his was in the closet and obsessed with Kurt. He dealt with stalking and death threats, he started at a different school. And then, when it came out that the guy was gay the next year and the kid attempted suicide, Kurt helped him. Became his friend. They still email each other, share what they’re doing with their lives.”

Justin tucked himself tighter against Brian’s back. “What kind of person can do that? Forgive, and even go so far as to befriend, your former tormentor? I mean, I almost _killed_ Hobbs.”

Brian tried to brush it off. “You had that little psycho, Toby, or Brody, egging you on.”

Rolling onto his back, Justin rolled his eyes. “His name was Cody.” Then he stared at the ceiling, still trying to make sense of everything. “And that doesn’t change the fact that I hunted Hobbs down and shoved a loaded gun in his mouth. Or that, for a minute there… for a minute there, I fully intended on shooting him,” he confessed.

Flopping closer to the edge of the bed, Brian grabbed for his cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag in an attempt to get his emotions under control. It didn’t work, and his voice was rough when he bit out, “He bashed your head in with a _baseball bat_ , Justin. I wouldn’t have you blamed you if you _had_ shot him.” Attempting to fall back on his old distance from anything affecting, he forced a grin and said, “Granted, visiting you in prison would’ve sucked, but-”

Justin rubbed at his hand, although it wasn’t causing him trouble. It had become a nervous tic. “Well _I_ would have blamed me.”

Catching the movement, Brian turned over and grabbed his fingers. Justin smiled. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m just caught in my own head.”

Brian raised a brow before purposefully putting out his cigarette. “I’m sure we can fix that, stud.” Turning, he trapped the smaller man beneath him, leaning in for a kiss.

Laughing, Justin shoved his face away. “Get off. I think we stopped at every secondhand clothing store in the Pitts, and I smell like old cologne, terrible perfume, and mothballs. I need a shower.”

Brian ran his nose up along Justin’s neck, sniffing. “Smells fine to me.”

Wriggling out of his lover’s hold and over the side of the bed, Justin stripped off his underwear with a deliberate tease and winked. “You could always join me.”

Padding toward the bathroom, he smirked when he heard Brian follow.

* * *

Back at the hotel, Kurt bemoaned their choices for dinner.

After two hours fielding work calls, Kurt had been dragged back out of his bedroom by Emmett, who had dropped the hotel menu in his lap. They had a good selection of ice cream, but limited pizza options. Yet Emmett persisted.

When asked what he wanted to watch for the evening, Kurt had thought back on the weightier conversations of the day, and bit his lip. “Something silly,” he gently admitted. “Something where the good guys win, and the bad guys lose, and everything ends well.”

With that in mind, Emmett had cued up Netflix and searched around for a minute, before stopping on one he knew they both loved.

As Doctor Jumba Jookiba was brought to trial for creating a “monstrosity”, they cuddled up on the couch, snacking, and Kurt sighed as he reached for another slice. “If I keep eating like this, I’m going to have to stop at a gym.”

Scoffing, Emmett snagged his own piece from the other tray. “Your pizza doesn’t even have _cheese_ on it, Kurty! Just light alfredo sauce and broccoli!”

“Healthy people have higher endorphin levels, and are thus less likely to commit murder,” Kurt responded, nose in the air. “Elle Woods taught me that. Considering some of the people I'm forced to interact with, I need all the help I can get. So tomorrow, after my business appointment, you’re taking me to the gym.”

Perking up, Emmett gasped. “Oh my god, I completely forgot about the meeting!”

Eating a large spoonful of his ice cream, Kurt winked.

Emmett started laughing, hard enough that his sides ached. Finally calming himself down, he giggled, “That should be a hoot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters just keep getting longer, which means the wait on each is also longer. So the next chapter is at least a month out. Hope you enjoy!


	4. Day 3 (Monday)

Brian was half an hour late. This was nothing new.

What was different was coming in to find his utterly efficient PA looking flustered.

Before he reached his office, she placed herself firmly in his path. She swallowed, peered over her shoulder to the closed doors, and explained in a panicked torrent of words, “The head designer for the Songbird Design fashion house, the one who we scheduled to come in two hours from now? He’s _already here_.

“You weren’t in, and he was resisting all my attempts to stall, so I gave him some coffee and pastries from the break room, and then I stuck him in your office.”

Brian’s mouth dropped. “ _What?_ We have a waiting area, why the fuck did you give him free reign of my personal space, Cynthia?”

“Don’t take that tone with me!” she hissed. “If you’d been here before 8, like _everyone else in this damn company_ , you could have dealt with him. He’d probably be more receptive to your flirting than he was to mine.” Shoving him toward the office, and the potential client, she added, “I’ve been trying to get all the files and sketches for the proposal together, but I still have to run over to the art department, so use the infamous Kinney charisma and fucking _charm him_ until I get back!”

It was as Brian tucked his briefcase behind Cynthia’s desk, then quickly tightened up his tie, and straightened his cuffs, that he realized he couldn’t remember the client’s name.

Pushing open the frosted glass doors, he opened his mouth to apologize, then took in the waiting man and stared. “ _Kurt?_ ”

Casually leaning against the front of Brian’s desk, Kurt gave a little wave with the hand not holding a coffee mug. “Hello, again.”

Taking him in from his high coiff to his polished shoes, Brian almost laughed. His current ensemble, with similar lines and fabric to his outfit at the King of Babylon contest, finally registered to Brian. He _had_ recognized the pieces, because he’d stared at all of them at one point or another while browsing the Songbird Design catalogue Kinnetik had received two weeks earlier.

Kurt’s smirk made Brian snort and pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Cynthia never told me your name, did she?”

“I like your PA,” was the younger man’s response. “She’s clever, sassy, and easily persuaded, with the right bribe.”

Crossing his arms, Brian demanded, “How did the two of you even-?”

“Emmett,” Kurt offered, his tone conveying the answer should have been obvious. Brian nodded, unable to deny it. “When he saw the gown I made Ms. Rocha for the Met Gala trending on twitter, he pointed out it would be in my best interest to hire an actual advertising firm, rather than continuing to rely entirely upon word-of-mouth. He suggested your company and gave me Cynthia’s contact information. We’ve been emailing since then.”

With an eye roll, Brian marched back over to the double doors, yanking one open to yell for his assistant. Only to find her already standing right outside the office, all the necessary paperwork in an organized pile in her arms, and wearing a self-satisfied expression.

“I’m docking your pay,” he growled, brushing past to grab his briefcase. He paused to glare at the brand new purse sitting beside it, gleaming black leather sporting a pair of mirrored Cs that identified the brand.

Behind him, Cynthia snorted, “No, you’re not,” then waltzed into the office.

He followed her back in, glaring as she spread the folders over the glass table across the room from his desk. Kurt joined her, placing his nearly empty mug down as he started reading through the papers.

Brian, tossing his briefcase onto his chair, unhappily noted that it was his mug. The one Michael had bought him as an “office warming” gift, just after the opening of Kinnetik. It’s was square, matte black, and read “FUCK THE MAN. He’s Got a Great Ass.”

Cynthia, also noticing the cup, snagged it and smiled at Kurt. “Did you want some more coffee?”

Pulling his attention from a print-out regarding possible options for media coverage of runway shows, Kurt nodded. “If you don’t mind.” Then he paused, giving her a long look. “And I don’t think I mentioned it earlier, but that scarf, and the earrings in a slightly lighter shade, are a perfect compliment to your skin tone.”

Incredulous, Brian watched in disbelief as his unflappable employee blushed.

“On second thought,” he muttered, slightly dazed, “maybe I should just fire you.”

Cynthia pulled herself together and, utterly calm, parried with, “Then I guess you’ll have to get your own coffee, Boss.”

Dropping his head back, eyes closed, he groaned. “Fine, goddammit. Don’t come back without that Indonesian double roast, or I’ll bust you down to intern and give Michelle your job.”

“Michelle thinks she’s in love with you,” Cynthia countered. “And she wouldn’t last two days before locking herself in a bathroom stall and having a hysterical breakdown.” With that parting shot, she sailed serenely out of the room.

Straightening, Brian opened his eyes to find Kurt watching him, bemused.

“Like I said,” the designer echoed, “sassy. You’d be lost without her, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Brian admitted, then scowled. “Just don’t tell her that. She’s already overpaid, for a glorified secretary. And she holds enough stock in the company that she can screw things up when she thinks I’m getting ‘above myself’,” he quoted.

Kurt laughed. “It could be worse. The three coworkers I mentioned at the diner? They’re _all_ my assistants. I hired them to help design and create fashion. And they do that. But they also spend an inordinate amount of time and energy on mapping my sleep schedule and forcing me to eat, and kidnapping me to a bar and getting me falling down drunk once a week to ‘de-stress’.

“They’re meddlesome and constantly talk back and won’t let me pick what we listen to in the workroom, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world,” he ended, eyes soft, smile sweet, if mildly exasperated.

“That’s Lesbo, Nice Ass, and the tattooed giant, right?” Brian asked.

Kurt snorted. “Elliott’s actually an inch shorter than you. It’s the leather, the boots, and the larger than life attitude, that make him seem enormous.”

With a smirk, Brian nodded. “I’ve known a few like that.” Focusing on the scattered proposal papers, he yanked one folder loose from the pile and flipped it open, looking over the summary. “Initial surveys suggest you’ve already got a growing fan base, thanks to the Coco Rocha gown, so I think celebrity endorsements are the way to go. I’ve got contacts in Hollywood and New York, they can start talking to a few of the higher placed stylists about your line.”

“I don’t know if you do a lot internationally,” Kurt said, stepping up to read over Brian’s shoulder, “but I have a few friends in Milan and Paris who can make suggestions. And if you impress Katrine, she’ll be a good start to building a European network.”

“I’m not about to turn that down,” Brian shrugged, before pulling out a chair and waving Kurt into another. “Everything that I’ve seen suggests that a print campaign would be best. We’ll start with a few magazines, some online publications. No television commercials, not at this point. Although I’ll see if we can send pieces to some of the bigger tv shows. If we can get popular characters in your clothes, the American public will start paying attention.

“I’d also like to do a few things with social media. As an advertising medium, it’s blown up in the past ten years. We’ve got a specialist on staff, and data mining and keeping track of online trends is her entire job.”

“If it helps,” Kurt offered, pulling out his phone, “I’m aware of a few online blogs who love Songbird Design. Elliott is on tumblr and pinterest and enjoys reading the best reviews. The essays some of them write in hashtags are odd, but flattering.”

Brian stood to grab paper and a pen, passing them to Kurt. “Perfect. If you could get the names of a few, we can pass that list onto Siobhan, and she can start looking them over.”

Sending a quick pair of texts, one to Elliott and another to Isabelle, Kurt started copying the urls as soon as he received a response. By the time he finished off the list, Brian was already on the phone with someone called Keller. He was asking for the contact information of costume managers, specifically those hired for films still in pre-production.

Brian reached for the intercom button, only for Cynthia to beat him to the punch, as she returned bearing coffees, iPad tucked under her arm, and another woman following close at her heels. Dropping off Kurt’s drink, Cynthia pointed to the stranger and made a quick introduction for Siobhan, before taking one of the remaining seats. Siobhan slid into the last chair, and clicked open her laptop, while Cynthia tapped on her tablet.

Reaching out, Brian caught Kurt’s list and pushed it across to Siobhan, who dove in without a second’s pause.

Kurt dialed in one of the numbers Isabelle had sent and instinctively smiled when someone picked up the call. “ _Allô, c’est Kurt Hummel… Bonjour, Renée! Isabelle suggéré je vous apelle_ _à propos de la campagne publicitaire… Oui,_ Songbird Design…” (Hello, this is Kurt Hummel. Hello, Renée! Isabelle suggested I call you about the advertising campaign. …Yes, Songbird Design…)

Brian trailed off in his conversation to raise a brow at Kurt in appreciation. Deliberately, he caught the designer’s eye, before licking his lips.

Kurt fought a blush, before rolling his eyes and resolutely focusing on his call.

After a moment, Brian realized Keller had started repeating his name, and tuned back in. “Go on, Brett, I’m listening.”

The next few hours passed easily, Brian making headway on two upcoming films and a TV show, while Kurt revealed his fluency in several additional romance languages through his calls to contacts in Barcelona, Madrid, Rome and Milan. His last call was in English, to someone in London Kurt jokingly referred to as “Mr. Big”, apparently an ex of Isabelle.

Cynthia looked up from her tablet to announce, “Runway says they can set up the article for a few months out. Two page spread and, depending on how the photos turn out, a cover blurb and with a small corner picture. They can’t guarantee it, though.”

Kurt’s mouth dropped open in pleased surprise. “ _Two pages?_ That’s-”

Cutting him off with a roll of his eyes, Brian snorted. “Not enough. They’ll offer us better, or we’ll give the exclusive to Vogue in Italy. Kurt’s friend-” Trying to remember, he glanced over.

“Paolo,” Kurt reminded him.

“-him,” Brian waved. “He’s Franca Sozzani, their chief editor’s, personal assistant. Sooner or later, they’ll offer us an article. So stress that to your Runway contact. If they want to be the first out of the gate on this, they’ll give us the full cover and a four or five page spread, and they’ll send the written contract our way by tomorrow.”

The idea of taking up so much space in Runway, not to mention a _cover photo_ , left Kurt reeling.

Cynthia and Siobhan, on the other hand, both treated it like a normal day. The advertising world had spent the last several years trying to catch themselves on Brian’s coat tails, and had begun to learn to take him seriously when he threw himself heavily into promoting one of his clients.

Brian was canny and ruthless, but best of all, he could read trends like nobody’s business. If he said a product was going to be the next big thing, he was rarely wrong.

Leaning back to stretch, Brian stopped when Cynthia and Kurt’s phones beeped in unison. The pair shared a look, before Cynthia scribbled down a short note and slid it over to Kurt. “Have fun!” she grinned.

Once again, Brian had no idea what was going on as Kurt wrapped a hand around the ad man’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Straightening and smoothing Brian’s jacket and tie with a few quick, impersonal touches, Kurt caught the older man’s wrist and drew him easily toward the door.

Bemused, Brian followed along, calling out, “And where are we going?”

Kurt glanced back and grinned. “Lunch.”

* * *

“…and then he claimed it didn’t count because the guy was dressed in drag.”

Brian glared at Kurt, waving his coffee cup to emphasize the point. “This isn’t lunch. This is a gossip session.”

Across the diner booth, Emmett smiled wide and mischievous, while Blake chuckled.

Kurt sipped at his diet coke. “We’re gay men. 60% of our conversations consist of speculation and outrageous stories.”

Brian couldn’t deny that, so he took a large bite of his sandwich as the salacious tales continued.

Five minutes later, Brian nearly sighed in relief when Justin and Lindsay walked in, noticed their friends, and made a beeline for the group. Sliding into Blake’s side of the booth, they greeted everyone until it came down to Lindsay considering Kurt. Everything she knew about Emmett’s cousin came from dinner with the Novotny-Bruckner’s the night before. Michael had been on the fence, while Ben seemed impressed. He’d mentioned the conversation between Kurt and Justin regarding art, and his own with Kurt about books.

Lindsay didn’t consider herself an academic snob, but she was curious. With a small, challenging grin, she recited a section of poetry. “ _And your sweet speaking, being near, can overhear. And that seductive laugh, which sets the heart to flutter in my chest_ …” she started, testing.

Kurt paused, then responded with a little laugh and the remainder of the stanza. “ _…For when I glance your way, my words dissolve unheard._ ”

Lindsay’s smile widened, impressed.

Turning the challenge back on the woman, Kurt began his own quote. “ _I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later._ ” He raised a brow, and Lindsay shook her head, unsure of the next line. It sounded achingly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. With a shrug, he continued. “ _And the part where I push you flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks, shut up, I’m getting to it._ ”

Finally recognizing the last line, which had drawn a laugh on her first reading, she asked, “Siken?”

Kurt nodded. “It’s from _Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out._ It’s one of my favorites.”

Brian snorted at seeing Lindsay outmatched.

“What was the first one?” Emmett chimed in.

“Sappho,” Lindsay admitted with a shrug, before leaning in toward Kurt. “I love your suit jacket. Is that Songbird Design?”

Brian fought to keep a straight face, while Emmett glanced away to hide a grin. Faux innocent, Kurt perked up, “You know the brand?”

Lindsay admitted, “I may have spent a few hours on their website staring longingly at a number of items. There’s a coat I keep having to talk myself out of buying.”

Inquisitive, Kurt asked, “Which one?”

Smiling widely, Lindsay pulled up the listing on her phone as she gushed about her favorite. “The Peacock Pea Coat. It’s a gorgeous pine green, detailed with embroidery in pear, violet, eggplant and a stunning persian blue, along with tiny feathers in a metallic honey gold.” Lindsay passed her cell to Justin, and he flicked through the online shop. “Everything the fashion house offers is mesmerizing, truthfully. There’s a grace in the line and construction, and the use of color is magnificent. They never shy away from bold jewel tones, or pale pastels, whether they are in vogue for the season or not. It’s a powerful reminder that fashion is an all-too-often ignored branch of the arts.”

Kurt was fighting back a blush, his cheeks warm.

“You know, I have an in with the lead designer,” Emmett bragged, covertly nudging his cousin.

At that, Lindsay perked up. “I remember reading a spotlight piece on him a few months back. It was in a paper for NYU IFA. Apparently, he was part of a high school show choir, which had an enormous impact on how he patterns his garments. A large influence on his style is the way stage costumes use flourishes, but he’s also insistent that everything be easy to move in.”

While Kurt’s flush grew, Brian and Emmett shared a smug look. Which was about when Blake seemed to catch on, eying their new friend knowingly.

Frowning, Lindsay turned to Emmett. “The picture with the article was from the neck down at the designer’s request, to show off the outfit he wore to the interview. What’s his name? I can’t seem to remember.”

Justin read something on the site and almost dropped Lindsay’s phone, staring at Kurt.

With a little laugh, Emmett winked. “I’ll give you a hint. He’s-”

Brian, rolling his eyes, took pity on her and waved to the man at his side. “Linds, meet Kurt Hummel, head designer and creator of Songbird Design.”

Lindsay’s eyes went wide, flicking back and forth between Brian and Kurt, as though waiting for a punchline. Justin passed back Lindsay’s phone to the dumbstruck women and pointed to the listing of the Songbird Design team, with Kurt’s name at the top.

Lindsay took this in and muttered, “Oh my god.”

In response, Kurt dropped his head into his hands and sighed.

Justin spoke up, attention fixed on Kurt. “I recognize the outfit you were wearing yesterday, and Saturday, from the website catalogue.” He turned to Brian, “And from the campaign mock-ups you’ve had me drawing for the fashion account you’ve been stressed out about landing. It’s Kurt’s company? And you didn’t say anything?”

Brian threw up a hand frowning, “I didn’t know. He bribed Cynthia to set everything up without telling me the owner’s name.”

Nodding, face serious, Emmett leaned in like he was sharing a secret and whispered, “Kurt’s sneaky.”

At that, Kurt shot back upright and glared at his relative. “You think I don’t know about the turquoise pleather pants you’re planning to hold back from the garbage heap, but I assure you, cousin, _I know_.”

Now Emmett was in shock, mouth wide.

And Brian had to burst out laughing.

After a few moments of speechlessness, Lindsay scooted forward. “That means _you_ made that inspiring gown for the Met Gala!”

Instead of becoming bashful at her excitement, Kurt grinned widely. “Coco was a dream to work with. She approached me, then made it absolutely clear that we had creative freedom. When I asked her if she had any preferences or specific requests, she said she wanted to “dazzle”. So we went about doing exactly that. Although, believe me, the beading on the shoulder in particular was hell.”

Lindsay continued to fawn. “The way all the crystal details caught the light, setting off that rainbow effect, was masterful. And you managed it without the reflection of the camera flashes making it impossible to photograph, or washing Ms. Rocha out. It was amazing.”

“It was a _very_ delicate balancing act,” Kurt admitted. “Elliott and Adam, two of my team, were indispensable. Elliott kept bringing in new light sources, and Adam was constantly taking picture after picture, all to be sure the prisms would work the way we wanted. There was a fair amount of unpicking and resewing until we achieved the look we were aiming for.”

“You know, there’s a rumor that Kerry Washington is planning to ask you to do a dress for-” Emmett started.

Kurt was already shaking his head, refusing to say one way or the other, when Brian’s phone began to ring. Yanking it out, Brian took in the caller ID and groaned. Answering, his tone was aggravated, “What now?”

Loud enough that they could all hear her voice, Cynthia clearly said, “ _You’ve been gone nearly an hour and you promised you’d bring back food for us. Kurt!_ ”

With a laugh, the younger man slipped the cell out of Brian’s grip. “Yes, Ms. Moore?”

“ _Do you still have our orders?_ ”

Pulling out the piece of paper he’d been handed earlier, and which Brian had completely forgotten, he responded, “Of course. I asked them to have it ready around the same time Brian asked for the bill. We should be back in the next fifteen minutes, eight if we take a cab. Is that agreeable?”

“ _Can we replace Brian with you?_ ” she asked.

Which was when the ad man wrestled back his phone. “You’re fired again,” he declared.

“ _I think you’ll find I’m really not!_ ” she chirped, and hung up.

Brian pinched at the bridge of his nose, while Kurt gave him a few condescending pats on the back. “There, there. At least your employees know their worth.” Turning, he waved at Kiki. “The check and our to-go order, please.”

Kiki winked. “Coming right up, dollface.”

* * *

When they arrived back at the office, Cynthia was waiting, tablet in hand. At the sight of Brian holding the white paper bag, she offered the electronic device. “Trade?”

Brian seemed to weigh the food. “Depends what you’ve got.”

“The contract with Runway, fully written, with all of our requirements outlined and agreed to, hammered out while you were off flirting with pretty boys.”

Brian reached out, only for Cynthia to pull away, shaking her head. “I said _trade_ , Boss.”

With a put-upon sigh, Brian proffered the bag, and the exchange was made.

Opening it to check the contents, the assistant’s expression brightened. “Thank you,” she said, tone sincere, then looked right past Brian, “ _Kurt_. It was nice of you to pick these up for us.”

Brian rolled his eyes, then returned to reading over the contract details.

Kurt laughed. “It was no trouble.”

Cynthia turned her focus back to her employer. “Siobhan’s going back to her desk for the day, and I’ll be down in Legal after my lunch break, if you need me.”

Brian waved her off, then called out, “Cynthia?”

“Yes?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, brows raised.

“You’re a manipulative bitch.” A pause, and the pair shared sharp smiles. “Nice job.”

She simply nodded and headed off.

Ushering Kurt back into his office, Brian handed him the tablet. “Make sure your lawyer looks that over before signing anything, but from what I read, it all seems to be in order.”

Kurt dropped into his seat at the glass table, once again overwhelmed at the idea of having such a large spread in such an influential fashion magazine.

Picking up a few of the former magazine mock ups, Brian shook his head. Now that he knew what the designers looked like, he had a better idea. Turning one of the sheets face down, so that a blank side faced up, he scribbled out five rectangles side-by-side, drawing large x’s over two, and using his meager drawing abilities to sketch out a few stick figures. “You are pants-bustingly gorgeous,” he started, “and so is your little team. Let’s use that.”

Finally pulling his gaze away from the contract, Kurt tilted his head. “What did you have in mind?”

Turning the paper to face him, Brian explained. “I’m thinking the interview should be paired with pictures of you and your assistants in your menswear line, fitting models in your fanciest dresses.”

“And Dani?” Kurt questioned.

Brian scoffed. “She’s a muff-diver. Don’t tell me she wouldn’t love rocking a suit in a photo shoot.” At that, Kurt nodded, conceding the point. “Hell, full outfit but no shirt,” Brian continued. “Just that rainbow corset from the phone pic. You made that for her, right?”

Kurt hummed, pleased. “The best way to perfect your use of boning is making fitted lingerie for someone with curves.”

“So, yes then,” the older man smugly replied, before turning back to the paper, where he had used his own abysmal drawing skills to position the possible shots, and tapped on the stick figure labeled ‘D’. “Yeah, fitted suit jacket over that- I’m queer as the next fag, and I’ve got no problem saying that’d be fucking sexy. Then we’ll have something for everyone, the gays and the straights. Fapping material for all,” he laughed.

Sitting back in his chair, Kurt considered the papers, then the man behind the idea. Finally, he asked, “I’m curious. Would you have been this blunt and crude if you didn’t know I was a relative of Emmett?”

Unashamed, Brian shrugged, leaning his hip on the side of the desk. “Maybe. Like I’ve said, you’re fuckable. If I’d met you on Liberty, I’d have been really goddamn direct about seducing you into bed with me and Sunshine by the end of the night. On the other hand, meeting you for the first time in the office? I might have flirted a little, threw a few compliments your way, but I’d probably tone down the language. I don’t fuck people I work with anymore, and it’s a bad idea to let clients think I might. Like you, I found out the hard way that’s an idiot call.”

“What about Justin?” Kurt continued to question, although his expression was undemanding. “And if you’d rather not answer-”

Brian scoffed, crossing his arms and shrugging. “I knew Justin and spent four years sleeping with him, on-and-off, before I hired him to consult for Kinnetik. And I’ll still be sharing a bed with the stubborn twat long after I’ve retired.”

With a little laugh, Kurt admitted, “You and Justin have one of the oddest relationships I’ve ever witnessed, but you both seem secure.” At that, he grimaced, remembering his own past experiences. Putting the feeling of betrayal and hurt back in its well-worn box, Kurt looked back at Brian. “You also seem perfectly happy.”

“We’ve got our own boundaries,” he offered, not sure why he wanted to share. Something about how sad the designer’s eyes had gotten for a moment, maybe. “Hard lines we don’t cross, promises we made, even if they’re not wedding vows. Early on, everything was a lot more open with us. We had limited rules and still managed to break most of them. We each eventually hit a point where we stopped needing to screw everything in sight. Now the agreement’s pretty simple - together, or not at all. And it works because we _make_ it work.”

“Justin mentioned that yesterday. And how seriously you take promises. He said you would kill yourself trying to keep them, so you rarely offer them. That alone would have convinced me to trust my company to you.”

“I’ll have to let Sunshine spill our relationship details to all my potential clients,” Brian muttered, mildly embarrassed.

“You should,” Kurt grinned wolfishly. “That way, if they don’t sign on they’ll still get an excellent description of exactly how amazing your cock is.”

Brian groaned. “Oh god, that kid.”

“He spoke in glowing terms,” teased the younger man.

“We’re here for _business_ , Mr. Hummel,” Brian insisted, swallowing a chuckle.

Kurt rolled his eyes and muttered, “Hypocrite,” before he returned to perusing the ideas spread across the table. “To business then, Mr. Kinney,” he purred, not noticing Brian blink rapidly.

He had heard the enticing faux innocence, and flashed back to a hot, blond intern referring to him in almost precisely the same tone years ago.

The man gave Kurt another covert look. He couldn’t seem to stop, and it was driving him crazy. He couldn’t deny Kurt would be an interesting conquest, but he had the uncomfortable feeling it would be more than that, if he and Justin invited him back to the loft for an evening. After he’d gotten past the memories and the rougher conversation, Justin had spent most of the previous night raving about his day with Kurt. He’d enjoyed the designer’s cutting wit, been fascinated by the fierce loyalty he’d displayed towards his friends and family, mentioned the moments of disarming kindness. He had loved having someone who could keep up with his art talk, loved how passionate Kurt was about his work, loved the way a blush lit his pale skin when he was flustered.

Despite the rule regarding sex with clients, Brian had little doubt they’d still make an offer before Kurt left. There was just too much potential for an amazing threesome. It was the idea of how he would feel after that made him itch. It wouldn’t be easy. Brian was honest enough with himself to admit he was already a bit infatuated with the man.

And he wouldn’t think about it. With a little snort that had the subject of his focus glancing up, eyebrow raised in question, Brian pointed to another printed page, letting his pre-planned ideas run his mouth without him.

They’d get in one good night fucking Kurt, then send him on his merry way with some great memories and a quick rebound. Then the man would find that great, perfect romance everyone was always talking about, and they’d be nothing but work colleagues with fond memories.

Simple.

Then Kurt met his eyes, gaze clear and unguarded as he spoke fervently about one of the advertisement suggestions, and Brian fought down a groan.

No way this was going to be simple. Fuck.

Pulling out his phone, he wandered away, sending a quick text to his partner. **Thoughts on breaking business/pleasure rule?**

Less than a minute later, Justin responded. **Kurt?**

**Yes.**

**Then yes.**

Turning back to the man in question, Brian asked, “A few of us are thinking about going out for drinks tonight. Interested in joining us?” He purposefully left out that the ‘us’ in question would merely be himself and Justin.

Glancing up, Kurt shook his head. “Thanks to stress over my deadlines, and last minute changes, I’ve put off working out for longer than normal, so Emmett agreed to take me to the gym tonight, and then I was hoping to get to bed early. My week off is technically six free days, and one day full of call-ins to iron out details tomorrow.”

Stifling his disappointment, Brian waved at the mess on the table. “I’ll have Cynthia send copies of everything we worked out, along with the contract between Songbird Design and Kinnetik, and both our companies and Runway, to the email address we have on file, and you should pass those along to your lawyer.”

As Kurt came to his feet, Brian passed him his satchel. “Let me walk you out.”

The answering smile was genuine and bright. “Thank you, Brian. For all of this.”

In response, the ad man grinned. “Only the best for my clients.”

As soon as the designer was tucked into a cab, and the car was pulling away from the curb, Brian slipped out his phone. The text he sent was brief. **Change of plans.**

As was Justin’s reply. **I’ll be waiting at the loft.**

And Brian grinned.

* * *

Kurt sighed as he hiked up his bag. “I know I was vague when I mentioned the gym, but I assumed we’d use the one here, at the hotel.”

Emmett, back to him as he grabbed water bottles out of the fridge, snorted. “Honey, there’s a gym in this hotel, and there are gyms in Pittsburgh. On Liberty, though, there’s only _one_ gym that counts.”

“Because it’s good?” Kurt shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Or because it’s a local tradition?”

Emmett brightly announced, “Both!” Turning, he caught sight of his cousin and stopped. “You can’t wear that!”

Kurt glanced down at his workout clothes in confusion. Black yoga pants that hugged tight to his hips and thighs, before hanging loose from the knee, under a large, broken-in football jersey with PUCKERMAN across the back. (He’d stolen it years ago, and every time Puck asked about it, he blatantly lied.) He also wore a pair of slip-off sneakers over low cut socks. Admittedly, it wasn’t up to his usual style, but he was planning to sweat all over the pieces, so fashion wasn’t a requirement. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Emmett scoffed, then waved at his own clothing choices. A close-fit, bright red tank top, black leggings in a sweatpant material that left exactly nothing to the imagination, and gym socks paired with shiny Adidas. “ _This_ is an outfit. You look-”

“Comfortable?” Kurt cut in. “No, none of this is designer, but we’re just going to be working out, so I don’t see how it would matter.”

After another few moments, Emmett shook his head. “Lord, sometimes I forget how naive you can be.”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt hitched his bag higher, grabbed the tightly rolled mat, and headed out of the suite.

Emmett trailed behind in disbelief. Clearly, Kurty did _not_ understand gyms.

* * *

The building was probably thirty years old, at first glance, but it appeared to have been revamped on the inside within the past ten years. The main room was long, with a running track around the outer edge, and filled with exercise machines and weights in the center. A few rooms branched off.

One on the right held cycling machines, another door on that side lead to the locker rooms. Emmett had wanted to drop in there to see if anyone he knew was around.

Kurt categorically refused. He’d had enough of locker rooms to last a lifetime, particularly ones full of strangers. Even the assurance that the majority of patrons were queer couldn’t change his mind.

Another look around the gym, and Kurt raised an imperious eyebrow. “And where, exactly, dear cousin, am I meant to spread out my yoga mat?”

In New York, Kurt rarely went to public gyms, preferring yoga studios. But the few of the former he had been dragged to would always have a separate room, or simply a section of the floor set aside for that exact purpose. Apparently Pittsburgh didn’t have a massive yoga community like NYC.

Emmett glanced around in surprise, then pointed to a room attached at the very end of the main space. A large picture window looked in on what appeared to be a small dance studio, the floor a pale wood, in contrast to the cement and tile throughout the rest of the gym.

With an eyeroll, Kurt grabbed his mat and headed for the empty room.

While Emmett greeted a few friends and claimed a stair machine, Kurt rolled out his mat on the floor with his back to the large window, tucked in his earbuds and started sun salutations while the playlist began.

“ _When in the springtime of the year when the trees are crowned with leaves. When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew are dressed in ribbons fair…_ ”

* * *

Finishing grounding himself half an hour later, Kurt stood and rolled back up the mat. He felt calmer, and his muscles were pleasantly loose. Some days, the feeling after he completed a good yoga routine was better than sex.

He walked out, wearing a little smile, and it wasn’t until he reached Emmett’s side that he became aware of exactly how many of the gym goers were watching him. Some covertly, others openly.

Having already dropped his mat, Kurt crossed one arm over his chest, hand catching the opposite elbow. He peeked around, before he refocused on Emmett and quietly admitted, “I suddenly feel like a premium slab of beef in a butcher shop window.”

His cousin laughed, pausing his work out to sit up. “That’s just about the perfect description, actually. Big old picture window, and you on the other side, ass to the audience, showing off exactly how flexible you are? You just practiced yoga in front of a collection of horny gay men. Really, what did you expect, sweetie?”

Based on Kurt’s wide eyes and shocked expression, “Not _that_. Em, I go to a yoga studio run by an angry asexual woman, for Madonna’s sake! And all the people I share classes with are fanatical about lowering their personal stress levels and achieving Scorpion Pose, not ogling their classmates.”

Emmett raised an incredulous brow, and Kurt huffed. Then the older man glanced past him and smirked. “Well, welcome to Liberty Avenue, Kurt, where the men are always looking for a good time, and don’t wait for an engraved invitation to try their luck.”

“What?” Kurt asked, brow furrowed.

Which was when someone placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and purred, “You’ve got great biceps.”

Kurt flinched out from under the stranger’s touch, spinning to face him and put some space between himself and the man.

The guy offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Louis. You must be new, because I would remember you,” he said, confident as he gave Kurt another long up-and-down look.

The man had to be at least 6’ 3”, giving him five inches on Kurt, with sleek muscles under dark skin, and a head of tight black curls. He wore a tanktop and biking shorts, both skintight in blue-and-white stretch fabric. And his warm brown gaze was blatantly appreciative.

If Kurt had met him while out at a club in New York, he might have considered sharing a few dances, and maybe taking him up on the unspoken invitation. Now, though, he felt less flattered and more hunted. While the locals may have long considered the gym a perfect place to pick up their latest conquest, Kurt had always considered them a non-sexual environment.

Catching Louis’ fingers for the briefest handshake in history, Kurt forced a smile. “Hi. I’m, uh, Kurt. And I’m just visiting the area.” Turning, he waved over at his relative, who was biting his lip to keep from chortling. “Maybe you recognize my cousin, Emmett? He’s lived here nearly as long as I’ve been alive.”

The subtle jab about his age had Emmett straightening out of his lounging position, pushing him to stop watching the show and shoot Kurt a glare. “I am barely 38, you little brat.”

Kurt scoffed. “You’re 45. I know, because that’s how many e-cards I sent you to mark the date.”

Turning to Louis, Emmett huffily told him, “You might have better luck with someone who doesn’t get vicious when they feel uncomfortable.”

Louis considered that for a moment, then grinned widely. “I think it might be worth it.”

Kurt shook his head, bewildered. Emmett continued to glower. And Louis’ attention was caught by someone headed their way. He took one look, cursed quietly but fervently, and then offered Kurt a blinding grin. “Well, if we run into each other again while you’re in town, consider the offer open. Later.”

Then he walked away.

“No one makes sense here,” Kurt mumbled.

A new hand slipped around him, but this one he recognized. Justin casually leaned against Kurt, his touch easy on the designer’s hip. “I felt the exact same way my first few months on Liberty,” he confided with a bright smile.

Brian came up on the other side and slung an arm around Kurt’s neck. “Nah. Liberty’s normal. It’s everywhere else that’s crazy.”

At that, Kurt cracked up laughing.

Emmett was still unhappily pouting about the age revelation when they were joined by Ben, who had watched the whole thing from over by the barbells. “Scaring away possible competition?” he asked wryly.

Puzzled, Kurt sighed, “I don’t understand what just happened.”

Ben nodded at the couple whose physical affection Kurt had accepted without a thought. “They’re staking a claim.”

“On what?” Kurt asked.

That broke Emmett out of his funk, eyebrows shooting up. “On _you_ , Kurty.”

In surprise, Kurt tried to pull away from the pair, but they kept him firmly between them. He stared up at Brian in confusion. “But I’m a _client_ , Brian. What about your rule?”

The man shrugged, “We make exceptions for the exceptional.”

Justin dropped an affectionate kiss on Kurt’s cheek. “Rules are made to be broken.”

Finally freeing himself from the two men, Kurt turned to face them, studying the pair cautiously. “You’re serious?”

Both of them took a long moment to look him over, then nodded.

After a short pause, Kurt answered with a wolfish grin, causing Emmett to snort, “Oh lordy.”

Shoulders back, chin up, stance strong, Kurt responded, “You’ll have to convince me it will be worth my while.”

Brian waved over his shoulder at the general crowd. “You can ask anyone in here. They’ll all tell you-”

Kurt shook his head. “Oh no. I don’t believe gossip. And I don’t put out that easily.”

Emmett popped up off his seat, tucking his towel away. “He means he expects wooing, boys. Now, Kurt and I have an appointment at our hotel spa. Toodles!” Picking up their bags, he passed one to Kurt, who slung the strap over his shoulder, before handing over the tightly rolled yoga mat. Emmett fluttered his fingers at his friends in a silly wave.

Kurt tucked the mat against his hip, and impishly grinned at the couple. “Good night.”

And with that, the pair sashayed out.

Ben grinned widely. “You two may have finally found a challenge.”

Sharing a glance, Brian and Justin smirked. “Only the best,” Brian grinned smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My “knowledge” of advertising in the fashion industry is born entirely of reality shows like Project Runway, and the terms Brian uses (like “print campaign”) are learned from QaF. I also don’t speak French, so I hope that tiny bit hasn’t been completely butchered. Runway Magazine is from The Devil Wears Prada. The lines Lindsay quotes are from Fragment 31, by Sappho, and Kurt’s are from Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out, by Richard Siken. And "Mr. Big" is a character Sarah Jessica Parker's character dated on Sex in the City.


	5. Day 4 (Tuesday)

The morning at Kinnetik had gone fairly easily.

A few things to sign, a couple project proposals to approve or finalize, one artist he attempted to lure over to his office for a morning quickie (Unfortunately, Justin had laughed in his face when he tried to “borrow” him from the art department. His partner was working on the final designs for a tv advertisement, and was trying to fix the issues and keep the original artist from having a meltdown.) and in between he'd been texting a certain designer without a single response. Beyond that, Brian’s day was wide open. He could have gone home, or out shopping, but it was one of those rare days when he'd decided to stick it out til most of his minions took off for the day. (He said it allowed him to relate to them better. Cynthia always scoffed and said he was full of shit.)

As a consequence, by noon Brian found himself at loose ends. Desperate with boredom, Brian decided subtlety was for twats.

 **What are you wearing?** Brian typed in with a leer.

He was more than a little surprised when he received an immediate, deadpan response. **An annoyed expression.**

 **I can work with that** , he assured Kurt. **How about pants?**

He got back an emoticon. Just a baffling, stupid yellow face. Goddammit.

* * *

Justin was just finishing the storyboards for the animation team when his phone chirped. Passing the final panel to Jared, who pinned it up on the board, Justin reached for his phone and grinned brightly at seeing a text from Kurt.

**Your partner is shameless.**

**Generally, yes.** With a laugh, Justin asked, **What did he do this time?**

Taking a sip of his coffee, Justin read Kurt’s new message and nearly snorted the drink back out his nose. **Brian is at work, I assume. I may not be physically at my job, but today is still a work day. Nonetheless, he’s trying to sext me.**

 **That sounds like Brian** , Justin admitted freely.

After a minute, Kurt sent a screencap of the most recent texts back and forth, ending with the neutral face, and Justin chuckled. **Brian hates emojis.**

 **I’m not a fan myself** , came Kurt’s quick reply. **However, I have a friend whose texts consist of almost nothing else, so I’ve become passably fluent.**

 **Oh?** Justin asked.

He was happy when Kurt responded, and they texted back and forth for a few minutes about their friends’ odd quirks.

Eventually, Kurt sent, **I have to get back to work. Please call off Brian. It’s amusing, but distracting.** The message was accompanied by another screencap. Apparently, Brian hadn’t reacted well to being ignored, proceeding to share a number of very specific details about their sex life.

Including… “Oh, you fucker,” Justin mumbled. That thumbnail definitely looked like a video Brian had taken last month of the blond giving him a blowjob.

Another text came in from Kurt. **I haven’t played the video, and plan to delete it.**

Justin shrugged. Sure, he owed Brian payback for not getting his okay first. But he had no doubt that if Brian _had_ taken the time to ask, Justin would have been fine sharing the recording with Kurt.

With a devious smile, Justin typed out, **Watch it first. Then you can erase it.**

He received an emoji, the shocked blushing face, and a single word. **Okay.**

Justin mentally patted himself on the back, then called his partner. “Did you seriously send a sex vid to Kurt?” he asked, as soon as Brian picked up.

“ _Did you seriously tell him all about my cock on your little shopping expedition with Auntie Em?_ ” Brian shot back.

Laughing, Justin acknowledged the point. “You’re horny and need to leave Kurt alone. Unlike some people, he’s actually trying to earn his paycheck.”

“ _Do you want to come up to the CEO’s office and earn_ your _paycheck?_ ” Brian teased.

Smug, Justin said, “Tempting. I just made the last changes on the animation. Unfortunately, I have a prior commitment.”

“ _One that’s more important than my dick?_ ” demanded Brian.

His phone announced a new text, and Justin pulled it away from his ear to read. “Lindsay asked for some help at the gallery, and it looks like she just pulled up at the front.” He hung up before Brian could get another word in, collecting his sketchbook and bag before hurrying to the exit.

* * *

Sitting at his large desk, Brian stared from his silent phone to the uncomfortable bulge in his pants in disbelief, before he gave up. Fuck sticking around till close, he needed to rub one off in the bathroom and then take a break.

Fifteen minutes later, cleaned up and calmed down, Brian swung into Ted’s office. “Theodore, we’re going to lunch.”

“But I-!” the smaller man tried to protest. Brian just sent him an incredulous look, and Ted slumped down in his chair. “Give me five minutes.”

“You’ve got two,” his boss countered and walked back out to the sound of Ted’s frantic typing and irate mutters.

* * *

When the two men stepped into the diner, Brian’s mouth curled in disgust.

From where they stood, they had the perfect view of Melanie and Michael, seated with JR in a booster seat between them. Both were watching the 4-year-old quietly eat her sandwich with proudly adoring expressions, as though she had just solved world hunger, or cured the common cold.

Brian strode over to stand beside them. Neither parent noticed until Brian hooked his hand through Michael’s shirt collar and forced him up and out of his seat. Shoving his squawking friend back on the opposite bench, Brian slid in and sneered at Melanie. “Don’t you three look like a happy hetero family.”

Both rolled their eyes in response, and Michael shoved Brian’s shoulder. After checking whether JR was paying attention (she was busy with her milk), the pair simultaneously flipped Brian off in exasperation.

Ted remained standing, knowing that JR was surprisingly good natured for her age, but had never warmed up to Ted. As a result, he rarely managed to get away without some new stain, be it food or paint or whatever else she could get her hands on. With a sigh of resignation, the accountant took Michael’s previous seat and accepted the inevitable.

Less than ten seconds passed before JR frowned over at Ted, then knocked her bowl of applesauce right into the accountant’s lap. Ted jumped back up, swearing under his breath.

“ _JR!_ ” Mel cried, stopping the girl from reaching for her cup with a similar goal. “Ted, I'm so sorry! I have no idea why she does this every time.” She reached into her large bag and pulled out a packet of wet wipes, then grabbed a few napkins and offered it all to the man.

“No harm done,” he answered, forcing a light tone as he tried to clean and dry his crotch, before glaring at Brian, who was silently laughing.

Brian was completely unapologetic, ignoring the mess as he attempted to wave down Kiki, who was busy with a rowdy table of twenty-something's. “Where’s Deb?” he asked.

“On a _day date_ ,” Michael answered. “Whatever the hell that is.”

“She’s missing out on the kidlet, for a nooner with the 5-0?” Brian snorted.

Michael buried his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

Which was when Emmett swung through the door with a loud “Hello, gays!” that most of the patrons cheerfully echoed back. Emmett approached his friends, and Ted was happy to let the tall man take his spot. With a grin, Emmett gave JR a quick tickle and she beamed over at him. “Uncle Em!” she screamed in delight, throwing herself into his arms. His flamboyant personality and tendency toward glitter and bright, wildly patterned or textured clothes meant she was always excited to play with him. She started babbling at him about her day, and he nodded along, listening intently.

Ted forced Brian over as he squeezed in beside the man, who glowered but allowed the crowding.

“Alright, boys,” started Melanie, pulling JR back into her seat and pushing the remainder of the girl’s sandwich into her little hands. “What the heck is up with Em’s miraculous cousin?”

In response, Emmett raised a brow in amusement. “Miraculous?” he repeated.

“Michael and Ben wouldn’t stop talking about him at dinner a few nights ago, and Lindsay started singing his praises yesterday and hasn’t stopped yet. So, he’s Linds’ favorite fashion designer, won the King of Babylon contest with live singing, can talk about literature and art and queer social mores eloquently enough to satisfy our academics, and has Sunshine and this jackhole-” She pointed to Brian. “-panting after him like dogs. If that’s accurate, he can’t possibly be related to Emmett,” she joked.

“Hey!” Emmett slapped Melanie’s shoulder over JR’s head.

“No offense,” she smiled, then tapped the tabletop pointedly. “Seriously, are you sure he’s even _human_?”

“He’s also a certified mechanic,” Emmett bragged.

“And speaks five languages,” Brian chimed in.

“And reads _Ms. Marvel_ , and Fraction and Aja’s run of Hawkeye,” Michael added.

“See?” Melanie declared, while Brian turned to stare at his best friend. “He’s impossible!”

Brian disregarded her, asking Mikey, “How the hell do you know what comic books he reads?”

“Hell d'you know!” JR repeated gleefully, and Mel shushed her, trying once again to explain the difference between “grown up” words and “kid” words.

Michael sighed, “Why does she always pick up on the bad sh-stuff?”

“Your kid’s a born troll,” the ad man snickered.

Michael pulled out his phone and turned it around for Brian to read. “Emmett gave him all our numbers, and he texted me earlier to see if I had copies of the first fives issues of the New 52 Aquaman, or if I could order them. He said his step-brother’s birthday was coming up, and they would be a great gift.”

Kiki finally detached herself from the loud booth and had heard Mel’s cry. “Who’s impossible?” she asked.

“Kurt Hummel!” announced Melanie.

At the name, Kiki perked up. “He promised that he’d show me around his fashion studio, if I’m ever in New York!”

There was a moment of stunned silence, before Emmett said, “That sounds like Kurt. So, Kiki, what's on special today?”

With three orders placed, Michael glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the store. Are we planning to do anything tonight?”

“Well,” Emmett glanced up from the little braid he was weaving into JR’s curly hair. “If Mel is so desperate to meet Kurt, there’s only one reason I can think of that he'd put away his work responsibilities for the night.” Then he paused.

“Go on,” Mel prompted, voice suspicious.

“Fade Out!” he exclaimed.

The pronouncement was met with a cheer from Ted, while the others groaned.

It was Brian who voiced their reluctance, although he sounded pissed. “You’ve got to be joking, Honeycutt. Can’t we make it through one goddamn week without you dragging us to that _goddamn_ bar?” This time Michael slugged him the shoulder as JR mimicked “Goddamn bar!”

Emmett merely shrugged, “If you want to see Kurt tonight and step up your attempted seduction, it’s your best bet. I’ll give him a few hours, then grab Kurt.” Waving at his partner-in-crime, he ordered, “Teddy, you coordinate rides for tonight.”

Almost bouncing with happiness, Ted nodded. “Absolutely, Em.”

And then JR turned to Emmett and asked, tone serious, “What’s see-duck-chin?”

While Em sputtered, Mel’s face dropped into her hands.

* * *

Around 5:30, Emmett dropped onto the suite’s couch, draping his arms over the side and trying to catch Kurt’s eye. “Soooo, we’re all going out to my favorite karaoke place. Care to join us?”

From where he was buried in a pile of sketches and legal documents at the desk, his hair a frazzled mess, one pen in his mouth, another tucked behind his ear, a pencil at hand, and bluetooth in, Kurt looked up and glared. Spitting out the pen, he demanded, “Do you really think I can, or _will_ , just leave all of this-” He waved at the disaster zone of a desk. “-in the middle of a crisis because you’re offering me a tiny stage, an outdated sound system, and a drunk audience?”

Smirking, Emmett added, “Also a pair of very hot men looking to charm their way into your pants, but mostly the chance to wow trashed strangers.”

Shoving everything away and yanking out the earpiece, Kurt sighed, then let a smile curl up his lips. “You know me too well.”

Already on his feet and headed for his suitcases, Emmett beamed. “Probably. But I promise only to use my powers for good!” he called over his shoulder.

Kurt shook his head and muttered, “Liar.”

* * *

Fade Out was a medium sized venue, and on karaoke nights it tended to fill up quickly without becoming crowded. A bar stretched along one wall, and the normally open floor was currently filled with small tables. At the edges were a number of large booths, the round bench-style seats upholstered in sparkly red vinyl and the tabletops were of a dark, heavy wood. The Liberty Diner crew had one such booth they tended to consider theirs.

First to arrive was Brian, alone, and he headed right for the booth, shrugging off a scarf. The night was unusually warm, and Fade Out was close enough to Kurt’s hotel that he wouldn’t be surprised if the cousins decided to pass on a cab. He grabbed the drink menu, yanking the laminated song list tucked inside out and dropping it on the table.

Next were Michael and Ben, coming in while Ted parked the car. A few minutes later, they were joined by Blake and his ride from the rehab center, Melanie.

When Lindsay and Justin arrived a few seconds after, they slid in next to Melanie.

As the groups traded seats and settled in, Brian casually asked the wives, “Where’d you stash the ankle biters for the night?”

“They’re spending the night being thoroughly spoiled by Grandma Deb, since she missed JR at lunch,” Lindsay answered with a smile.

Which immediately dropped when Ted paused in taking drink orders to offer, “Five bucks says JR comes home yelling ‘fucker’.”

Brian shook his head, but instead of denying it, he made an addendum. “Nah, my money’s on ‘cocksucker’.”

Crossing her arms and fighting a chuckle, Mel sternly said, “She’d better not. Not after the long lecture we had to give Deb after Gus learned ‘dickless wonder’ when he spent a weekend. I love that woman, but she’s got the mouth of a sailor.”

“No,” Brian corrected, “she’s got the mouth of a twenty-five-to-life prison inmate. And hearing Gus tell a judgemental old hag to mind her own fucking business when we were out last month was the best gift a father could receive.”

“He _what?_ ” Melanie demanded, while Lindsay gaped and sputtered.

Brian shrugged. “I told him the mommies wouldn’t approve and gave him a popsicle if he promised to keep the cursing to when we went out.”

Lindsay glowered. “Well, we will definitely be sitting down to have a long talk with him about why that kind of language isn’t appropriate-”

“And you get to pay for _at least_ the first round,” Mel added, enjoying the rare chance to punish her occasional nemesis for being a dickhead.

Brian rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, only to smile in welcome as Kurt and Emmett approached the booth. Both looked flushed, and Brian figured he’d guessed right - the pair must have walked. “Hey,” he nodded, then patted the spot on his right, at the edge of the bench. “Saved you a seat, Kurt.”

Swelling up with false indignation, Emmett pouted. “And what about me? No offer of a spot kept warm for my fabulous ass?”

“If someone has to suffer through sitting next to the jackass that dragged us to this unwelcome S&M torture session, it's sure as hell not gonna be me,” he responded with a contemptuous expression.

With a giggle, Kurt jokingly suggested, “Tell us how you really feel, Brian.”

“Mostly disappointed in you,” the ad man drawled.

“Me?” Kurt asked, head tilted innocently, eyes wide.

Brian scoffed. “Of course. You brushed off a whole legion of hot sexts throughout the day, but took the time to discuss comics with Michael, and come running when Em yells ‘karaoke’?”

Sliding in next to him, as everyone else shuffled to let Emmett scoot around and in between Michael and Ted, Kurt shrugged. “The bar I mentioned my friends dragging me to when work gets crazy? It offers a stage, mic and piano five days a week for patron use. Admittedly, it’s located in an area teeming with art students and theatre types, so there tends to be minimal tone-deaf screeching.”

Ted snorted. “Is show choir to blame for how you cope?”

Solemnly, Kurt nodded. “Spending years singing one’s feelings permanently alters one’s ability to decompress without musical accompaniment.”

As laughter met his announcement, Kurt focused on the women seated across from him. “Hello again, Lindsay. And you must be Melanie Marcus.”

“Hi,” she nodded, curious and wary.

Kurt leaned in and smiled easily. “I was following the case you took last year, Bower vs. King? A friend had to explain some of the more esoteric details, but your closing argument was masterful,” he praised.

Lindsay preened at the positive attention directed at her wife, while everyone else watched in awe as Mel’s suspicious expression transformed into a pleased blush. When she noticed the staring, Melanie scowled at her friends. Turning back to Kurt, she asked, “The person who translated the legalese for you, anyone I’d know?”

“Marisol Lara-Reyes.”

Mel barely strangled a squeak, and Kurt blithely continued, as though she hadn’t made a sound. “She’s a partner with Martin & Hale in New York.”

“You know Marisol Lara-Reyes?” the lawyer finally blurted, voice pitched too high in excitement.

“We met through a shared friend a few years ago,” Kurt explained. “Sebastian was writing for the New York Times and covering one of her cases, a woman who was about to be deported for her family ties. I’d been looking for some way to support the immigrant community in the area. He suggested Marisol and I meet, and we bonded over 90s romcoms and picketing for better policies.”

Before the pair could get into the conversation further, Ted tapped the table and waved around his list. “Emmett, Kurt, what are you drinking?”

“Just a mojito for me-” their new addition began, before Justin snorted.

“You’ll need more than that,” the blond explained.

Seeing Kurt taken aback, Blake sighed. “We’re playing Blind-&-Drunk.”

Kurt’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I'm sorry, what?”

“It’s a stupid game we play to keep us sane, or at least too drunk to know better, when Em and Theodore convince us to come here,” Brian scoffed.

He asked, “How does that work?”

“We choose songs for each other, but don't say which song, so you have to sing it blind,” Justin began. “And if you mess up the lyrics, or start laughing, or won’t sing, there are penalty drinks. A sip for a missed lyric, a shot if you crack up, and you down your whole drink if you refuse to sing.”

Kurt considered his cousin, who he knew tended to remember nothing but the chorus on most songs. Emmett caught the glance and laughed, “Yes, I tend to walk out of here dead drunk. You, on the other hand-”

Kurt’s grin was vicious, “Oh, I'll kick ass. I spent the majority of high school taking part in karaoke duels with my girls. Your friends don't stand a chance. But I guess you can add a few Kamikaze shots to my order, Teddy.”

Once the list was complete and he headed for the bar, the manager apparently recognized Ted, because he laughed and said something while passing the man a large, empty beer stein, as a bartender put together their large drink order and grabbed a tray to help bring the glasses out.

When he returned to the table, drinks in tow, Ted placed the stein in the center, and Emmett pulled out a pen and grabbed a few napkins. “Alright, everybody. Names in!”

Kurt jotted his name down twice, while most of the others only put theirs in a single time. Blake simply shared an entry with Ted, confiding in Kurt that he didn’t do well alone on stage. When all the entries were folded and tossed in, everyone took turns drawing.

Unfolding his pick, Kurt’s grin was pleased. He knew how much Emmett loved putting on a show, despite being mostly tone deaf, so there was no need to worry about embarrassing his cousin. And based on the terrible attempts at covert glances, one of the two papers Emmett had grabbed had to have Kurt’s name on it.

As everyone went through the laminated sheet at their table and considered their options, Kurt found his choice for Emmett and walked up to the sign up sheet. He played along by avoiding reading the previous few entries, since several of the other members of their group had gotten there first. Adding the song name and number, and then Emmett as “Auntie Em”, he smiled.

It was a few rounds before one of their number was called up. At the sound of his name by the host, Kurt obligingly got to his feet, a drink in hand. When Kurt stepped onto the small, badly lit stage, and placed his glass in plain sight atop one of the speakers, no one was paying attention. The majority of the audience had just finished jeering a very drunk woman who had absolutely butchered Madonna’s _Material Girl_ off the stage. There were a few echoed boos and laughter as Kurt waited for the music to begin.

The title card came up, and Kurt grinned. He had no idea who had chosen the song among the eclectic group of friends, but they were about to get a show. Kurt had been teased in high school by Rachel ( _Rachel_ , of all people, which was pure hypocrisy!) about being a melodramatic performer. But if there was anything that deserved a truly over-the-top show, it was a classic like this one.

As the music faded in, he approached the standing mic in the fashion of Freddie Mercury - like it was someone he was planning to seduce, fingers softly teasing around the head before holding firm. Legs wide, feet planted, he shook out the tension that had built up through the day. Then he curled down, mouth nearly brushing the windscreen, licked his lips and sang. “ _I want to break free. I want to break free. I want to break free from your lies, you're so self satisfied I don't need you!_ ” By now, the audience was sitting up, invested in this stranger who could actually hold a note and was swaying his shoulders and tapping his foot, owning the stage and singing like the lyrics actually mattered. “ _I've got to break free. God knows, god knows I want to break free!_

“ _I've fallen in love! I've fallen in love for the first time, and this time I know it's for real. I've fallen in love_ , _yeah,_ ” he wiggled his eyebrows at one of the men at a front table, who blew a wolf whistle in response. _“God knows, god knows I've fallen in love!_

“ _It's strange but it's true, hey! I can't get over the way you love me like you do. But I have to be sure, when I walk out that door- Oh, how I want to be free, baby. Oh, how I want to be free._ ” He closed his eyes and pulled the mic free of its stand, curving backward as he belted, “ _Oh, how I want to break free!_ ”

He blinked in surprise as the track skipped the majority of the instrumental interlude, silently berating himself. It was karaoke, not a dance club, and the music was for singing. As the words began to scroll across the tv screen again, he laughed softly and dove back in.

“ _But life still goes on. I can't get used to living without, living without, living without you by my side. I don't want to live alone. Hey! God knows, I’ve got to make it on my own. So baby can't you see I've got to break free?_

“ _I've got to break free. I want to break free. Yeah!_

 _“I want, I want, I want to break free!_ ” He held the final note until the music cut off, and grinned broadly as the cheers and applause started, loud and enthusiastic.

As Kurt collected his untouched drink and headed back for the booth, Michael’s name was called. He groaned heavily and frowned as he squeezed past Brian to head up.

When the song title came up, his quiet mutter of “ _motherfucker_ ” was caught and relayed by the mic, and scattered laughter rang through the building.

Kurt then proceeded to watch in horror as Michael outright slaughtered one of Adele’s greatest hits. Missing multiple lines and words, he took sip after sip. Eventually, he gave up just before the finale chorus, chugging down the remainder of his beer and marching off the stage before the song ended.

Brian was announced next, and Mel and Lindsay were smirking as soon as the title was revealed. _I Kissed a Girl_.

Brian took one look, scoffed, swallowed down his entire whiskey and sauntered out of the spotlight to a chorus of jeers and boos. He slid back into the booth as the pop song abruptly cut off, pausing for a moment with his ass in Kurt’s lap, then settled into his seat, slinging an arm over the younger man’s shoulders. Sneering at Lindsay, he announced, tone mocking, “No, Wendy, I _didn’t_ like it. Any pussy is too much pussy.”

Kurt considered asking, only for his attention to be diverted by the two giggling women who staggered up to the mic, clearly hammered. To the general amazement of everyone watching, they put on an astounding version of _Uptown Funk_ , despite both nearly falling off the stage at separate points and being too dizzy to read the prompter.

After a hearty round of applause, and as the next performer helped the pair down and the manager called them a cab, Kurt found himself the focus of Melanie’s attention.

“Mendoza vs. Webster?” he asked knowingly.

With a bright smile, Mel excitedly said, “I followed the case and read the transcripts. Lara-Reyes did a truly impressive job.”

As the latest drunk with a microphone went from almost-speaking to yelling the lyrics, Kurt’s voice grew louder in response. “I’m still shocked the defendant’s lawyer let the man browbeat him into taking it to trial.”

“Especially when the prosecution was able to bring in multiple witnesses from the office willing to testify on Ms. Mendoza’s behalf,” Mel agreed. “Webster was sunk before he walked into the courtroom, and then those outbursts in court!”

Laughing, Kurt tapped on the table. “Marisol joked that she would have kissed him when he started yelling Mexican slurs. And after the judge ruled him in contempt, Marisol invited us over to her apartment for an impromptu dance party that night.”

“You know, one of the partners at my firm did something similar when we won a huge custody dispute a few years ago…” The conversation continued on that vein through a few songs, with Kurt keeping up surprisingly well, only needing things laid out in layman’s terms once or twice.

Most of the friends responded to Kurt’s charming of yet another member of their group with accepting chuckles. Emmett preened. On the other hand, Brian was bored by the current topic. That changed when Melanie was called, and a sadistically pleased grin slipped over the man’s face.

Melanie took one look around the booth, narrowed her gaze on Brian, and grumbled, “Fuck you and whatever song you picked, Kinney.”

Brian’s smile never wavered as the lawyer stomped to the stage.

The opening chords rang out, and Kurt recognized the song. He couldn’t decide whether Brian deserved a slap or congratulations.

In a low, appealing alto, her expression and timbre both irritated, Melanie began. “ _Take this pink ribbon off my eyes. I’m exposed, and it’s no big surprise. Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand? This world is forcing me to hold your hand._ ” Then she dove into the chorus with a furious growl. “ _‘Cause I’m just a girl, little ol’ me. Well, don’t let me out of your sight. Oh, I’m just a girl, all pretty and petite - so don’t let me have any rights!_ ”

She wailed the next line with all the indignation of a woman who had dealt with society’s misogyny on a close, personal basis. “ _Oh, I’ve had it up to heeeeere!_ ”

Justin met Brian’s eyes across the table. “I’m not sure whether she’ll love or hate you when she gets back.”

With a casual shrug, Brian brushed off his words. “She _always_ hates me. And Smelly Melly sings better when she’s pissed at someone.”

Following the hilariously angry and poignant performance, two couples got up together and sang the worst rendition of _Don’t Go Breaking My Heart_ that Kurt had ever had the misfortune to hear.

Storming back to the table, Melanie aimed a deadly glare around at her friends, daring any of them to say a single word. There were hushed snickers and a few amused smiles, but no one commented.

Turning back to Kurt, hoping to continue their earlier discussion, Mel huffed to find him caught up in an argument on some art piece with Justin and Lindsay. It ended on a draw, when the announcer called out “Justin Taylor!”

At the sound of his name, Justin offered up a huge grin to the group, shotgunned a Melon Ball, and headed through the crowd, head held high. Based on his confidence, Kurt assumed Justin was one of the few in their group with a decent voice. This turned out to be false.

The man was enthusiastic about the song ( _With a Little Help From My Friends_ ) and clearly knew the lyrics by heart, but he did miss most of the notes. When Kurt raised an eyebrow at Brian in confusion, the older man chuckled. “Trust me, he knows how bad he sounds. He just loves the Beatles. The _Yellow Submarine_ movie is why he started drawing, and the reason he got into graphic design. Whenever he's sick, it's all he wants to watch. His mom told me that's been true as long as she can remember.”

With a final repetition of the title line, he waved happily at the people booing, then walked back to the booth, still beaming. Slipping in on the opposite side of his old seat, Justin planted himself at the end of the bench on Kurt’s right, forcing everyone to scoot over. Under the cover of everyone moving and the lighthearted complaints, Justin casually reached for the designer’s hand, as though it were a common thing. Bemused, Kurt allowed it and pretended he didn't see the wink Justin sent Brian’s way.

Next up was Ben, who proceeded to offer the audience the most dry version of _(Dirty) Pop_ imaginable. Hearing him drawl out the words “... _it doesn’t matter, ‘bout the car I drive or the ice around my neck. All that matters is that you recognize that it’s just about respect. It doesn’t matter ‘bout the clothes I wear, or where I go and why. All that matters is that you get hyped, ‘cause we’ll give it to you every time_...” as he stood straight and unmoving, smirking softly, was hysterical. And he didn't miss a word. Returning to the table, he sketched out a little bow at the group’s sniggered applause.

When Blake and Ted got up to perform immediately after, Emmett couldn't stop giggling, leaving Kurt to assume he'd picked out whatever duet the pair was about to try.

When _Summer Nights_ started, Kurt winced. It was a surprisingly hard song to pull off, especially when the singer didn't have backing voices to fill in the holes.

Ted went all in. And if his tone and vibrato would better fit opera, at least he had training and could stay in tune.

Blake, meanwhile, had taken the Sandy parts. His voice was good, overall, but he was struggling with the key, and as a result he sounded like a hoarse, murderous cat on the high notes.

Between the pair, only a few sips were necessary.

Despite a humdrum audience response and Blake darting gratefully off the stage as soon as the song ended, Ted stayed in the spotlight an extra minute, bowing theatrically.

They were succeeded by a cute guy who was maybe 25, and who aimed his rendition of _Lego House_ at a brightly blushing young woman seated at a table near the front. He had a soothing voice and only stumbled over a few of the quicker lyrics. Overall a pleasant break in the general string of lackluster performances.

Brian apparently disagreed, muttering something less than complimentary about “breeders”. Kurt felt no shame elbowing him sharply in the stomach. “Some of the best people I know are straight, Brian,” he lightly scolded. “And that was lovely.”

Most of the table laughed as Brian rolled his eyes but mumbled out a “…not so bad, I guess.”

A few mediocre singers came and went before it was Lindsay’s turn. Already tipsy, she gamely brought along a Peach Tart and her Cosmopolitan, and spent more of her time on stage drinking and badly air-guitaring than giggling out the lyrics of _Pour Some Sugar On Me_. As the last few repeats of the title faded out, her (luckily plastic) glass went flying as she faked the last power riff. It failed to hit anyone, but an apologetic Lindsay kept drunkenly yelling “Sorry!” in between bursts of laughter.

When she made it back to the booth, Melanie tucked her wife in place, catching Lindsay’s waist and pushing all of their drinks out of the woman’s reach. “I think you’ve had enough, honey,” Mel announced.

From where she sat, torso sprawled over the tabletop, arms tucked beneath her head, Lindsay tried to nod and failed miserably. “Think you’re… um, right. Good. Yeah,” she slurred.

Emmett got to his feet, rolling his eyes. “How in the world are you this wasted after two shots, a beer, and a cosmo?” he tutted.

Michael and Brian laughed. “You should have seen her in college,” Brian gloated. “One cup of Jungle Juice and she was _gone_.”

Mel huffed. “We both cut back on drinking when Linds got pregnant, and neither of us has ever been borderline alcoholics like _some_ people we know,” she defended, glaring at Brian.

The introduction of Emmett’s song caught their attention, and most of the group turned toward the stage.

Kurt, on the other hand, seemed concerned. Justin scooted over to whisper in his ear, “Brian’s slowed down in the last few years. He’s a lot better than he was when I met him.”

With a smile, Kurt responded quietly, “Good. I’ve had a few friends who spent years struggling with addiction. It’s hard to care about someone and be forced to watch from the sidelines.”

“Yeah,” Justin agreed, attention flicking momentarily to Blake, Ted and Ben, before stopping on his partner. “Brian had-” He stopped, trying to figure out how to explain without sharing Brian’s battle with cancer. “-a health scare. It made him start taking better care of himself.”

Brian glanced over, with no idea what the two men were talking about in a hush. But Justin’s smile when he noticed Brian watching was reassuring. And he was pleased when Kurt scooted a hair closer under his arm, pressing against his side.

Kurt turn his concentration back to his cousin’s over-the-top attempt to belt out  _Cheap Thrills_. He managed perhaps half the notes, and a surprising majority of the words, but clearly agreed with Kurt’s karaoke mantra: Without a show, what’s the point?

With a closing shout of “I love cheap thrills!” Em bowed and minced across the floor to the booth. Hearing his name, Kurt was already up and out when they passed each other, exchanging a high five. Kurt called over his shoulder, “More style than substance, cuz.”

To which Emmett spun and indignantly shoved Kurt forward, laughing, “Shut up and get your tush on stage, you brat!”

Standing under the spotlight for a second time earned Kurt an immediate round of pleased hoots and whistles. Having someone perform who could actually sing was both rare, and welcome.

The title was revealed, and Kurt secretly thought terrible things about Emmett. Who else knew that Kurt both hated this kind of auto tuned drivel, yet still kept this specific example on his playlists out of a secret love for the punk rock princess of his heart, Hayley Williams?

He recalled his cousin mentioning once that Blake had an obsession with techno pop, so if anyone was to blame, it was probably the pair of them.

“ _I know that we are upside down, so hold your tongue and hear me out-_ ” The expected teasing tone dropped on the following line, “ _I know that we were made to break. So what? I don't mind!_ ” He shrugged his shoulders and his fears off as his eyes landed on Justin and Brian, letting a little smile slip free at the way their focus was glued to him.

“ _You kill the lights, I'll draw the blinds. Don't dull the sparkle in your eyes. I know that we were made to break. So what? I don't mind_ ,” he repeated, more sure than ever that it was okay to be openly interested around the pair.

“ _Are you gonna stay the night? Are you gonna stay the night? O-ooh, o-ooh, o-ooh, o-ooh, are you gonna stay the night?_

“ _Are you gonna stay the night? Doesn't mean we're bound for life. So oh oh oh, are you gonna stay the night?_ ”

Bopping along to the loud beat, Kurt danced in place, body swaying as he let his guard drop, if only for one song. “ _Are you gonna stay the night? Doesn't mean we're bound for life. So oh oh oh, are you gonna stay the night?_ ”

And he knew, as he reached the lines that resonated with him most strongly and tossed the couple a flirty wink, “ _I am a fire, you're gasoline, come pour yourself all over me_ ,” that this could hurt. But it felt like it might be worth it. “ _We'll let this place go down in flames only one more time._

“ _You kill the lights, I'll draw the blinds. Don't dull the sparkle in your eyes. I know that we were made to break. So what? I don't mind!_

“ _Are you gonna stay the night? Are you gonna stay the night? Oh oh oh, are you gonna stay the night?_ ”

A final repeat of the chorus, an enthusiastic round of applause, and Kurt slid back into the booth between the couple, who made it a point to touch him, a brush of fingers on his thigh, an arm around his shoulders, a hand holding tightly to his own, expressions hopeful and heated.

After maybe another two songs, Melanie stood, doing her best to pull Lindsay out and up with her. The blonde was quietly humming to herself, as Melanie positioned herself beneath her wife’s shoulder to keep the woman on her feet. “Okay, I'm mostly sober. I think we’re gonna call it a night,” Mel decided.

Ben was already moving to help Mel with Lindsay. “Will my bike fit in the back of Lindsay’s car?”

“It should,” Melanie assured him.

“Perfect. Michael and I will take Lindsay’s car home, and I’ll drop it off tomorrow on my way to class,” offered Ben, doing his best to control Lindsay’s staggering attempts to walk.

“That would be great,” Melanie smiled, aiming their course toward the door.

Gathering up jackets and bags, Michael gave Brian a quick peck on the mouth and called, “Goodnight, guys!” before following the women and his husband out.

Ted and Blake followed a few minutes later, waving their farewells, until it was just Em and the quietly flirting trio. Leaving them to it, Emmett headed for a tall and dark man who'd been giving him the eye during _Cheap Thrills_. Maybe he could wrangle a future hook-up out of this night, too.

As his cousin wandered away, Kurt felt a hand tug him out of the booth and toward the exit. Justin’s fingers held his wrist in a soft grip, easy to break if Kurt were so inclined. Instead, he let curiosity lead him out. Brian ducked ahead of them, and when the two made it into the cool night air, they found him waiting, lounging against a 1971 Corvette Stingray that, any other day, would hold all of Kurt’s attention.

Brian and Justin managed to edge the car out, just barely, when they pulled him between them. Justin wrapped his arms around Kurt’s waist from behind, resting his head lightly against Kurt’s back, while Brian let one hand slide down to rest on top of Justin’s, and the other ran along Kurt’s cheekbone. Slowly, the older man bent closer and paused an extra moment, waiting for Kurt to close the distance.

Carefully, he did just that, and was swept up in a kiss far sweeter than he had expected. There was clearly lust there, but it was banked beneath affection.

After nearly a minute of the gentle press of lips, barely slipping open to allow them to breathe one another’s air, they pulled apart and Brian smirked at Kurt’s hazy expression, tossing him a cocky wink. In response, Kurt pursed his lips, glared a little and rotated to face Justin. This time, Kurt controlled the kiss, and he dove in with reckless abandon, Justin happily offering his mouth up to him. Even though he set the pace, it was Kurt who gasped, lightheaded as Justin pulled him flush to his body, and Brian crept closer from behind.

Kurt broke away as someone cleared their throat behind the trio.

Breathing in deeply, Kurt tried to catch his breath as he peered over Justin's shoulder to find Emmett watching, straightfaced, but his eyes were laughing.

“Did you decide on alternate accommodations for the night?” his cousin teased.

In tandem, Brian and Justin turned to Kurt, the blond’s look imploring, while the brunet wore a challenging smile.

Stubbornly, Kurt extracted himself from between the pair. It took longer than expected, since neither was happy to let him go. Moving to stand beside Emmett, Kurt mulishly insisted, “I’ll be sleeping at the hotel tonight.”

Nodding, Emmett checked his phone. “Our ride should be here in just a minute.”

In the following pause, both Brian and Justin leaned back against the car, fighting the urge to reach for Kurt, both tucking their hands in their pockets. Unconsciously, they moved closer until Justin’s shoulder brushed Brian’s arm.

As the yellow cab pulled up and Emmett headed around to climb in the opposite door, Brian straightened.

“One of these nights,” he declared, voice confident, “you’re not going to say no. And we’ll take you back to the loft and help you enjoy yourself more than you ever have before.”

Hand on the open door, one foot up on the sidewalk, while the other rested on the asphalt road, Kurt paused and shrugged. “Probably. Not tonight though,” was his soft reply, smile matching the tone. Then he climbed into the cab and turned to wave goodbye through the window.

As the car drove away, Brian blew out a sigh, and Justin snickered. “The Great Brian Kinney - cockblocked.”

“Shut up,” Brian responded, cuffing his partner on the back of the head, before digging his hand into the golden hair and tilting Justin’s face up and into a devouring kiss.

When they separated, Justin caught his breath, grinned and ruefully admitted, “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not just you. We’re both already too attached.”

Brian shook his head and then ushered Justin toward the Corvette. “Let’s head home.”

As he pulled into traffic a minute later, Justin offered, “There’s always tomorrow.”

Nodding, Brian silently agreed. _Tomorrow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, let me just say these characters are canonically not very careful about anything but using condoms. So for those of us whose lives are not tv plot lines, here are a few Very Important Messages:  
> DO NOT share pictures or videos of any kind of nudity or sexual activity without the agreement of EVERYONE involved. **And even when you think the person receiving them is trustworthy, this can backfire horribly. So please be cautious.  
> **  
>  Additionally, **DO NOT drink and drive **. No matter how long ago your last drink was, or how sober you feel, either appoint a designated driver, or call a cab.****


End file.
